Of wolves and men and Dwarves and a Hobbit
by jeza.red
Summary: In short - a Hobbit Ladyhawke!Au in which the heirs of Durin are cursed to turn into animals at different times of the day and their only hope rests on a tiny little hobbit thief who can steal their freedom back from the evil sorcerer.
1. Chapter 1

In short - Hobbit/Ladyhawke Au in which the heirs of Durin are cursed to turn into animals at different times of the day and their only hope rests on a tiny little hobbit thief who can steal their freedom back from the evil sorcerer.

* * *

.

.

It all started in a rather stupid fashion, Bilbo was willing to admit. Not stupid as in "silly and embarrassing". Well, it was a bit embarrassing, but not silly at all. More like "put your hand in the fire-stupid" or "annoy a warg and get eaten-stupid".

And certainly the "try and steal from them and see what happens-stupid".

That was the embarrassing part in fact – the stealing part.

But only a little as Bilbo was a very sensible hobbit and in his mind everything that led to not dying of starvation could be excused and eventually forgiven. His mother was a practical woman and she taught him that what for Big Men could mean little for them could decide of life or death. Harsh life enforced the conviction that no crumb was too small for a hungry hobbit and very few things were actually inedible.

These times of starvation were luckily behind him – he wasn't a small scrap of a child that had to take care of himself, not anymore, he was a grown hobbit; grown and skilled at his trade. Well, it wasn't exactly 'trade', because far it was from Bilbo to advertise his set of special skills to anyone. It was more of a... way of survival. He didn't steal… well, not exactly. He borrowed.

And sometimes life smiled at him enough that he was able to give back what he took or replace it with similar item.

Bilbo Baggins was an honest hobbit and if he was a little less unlucky, he would be an honest person living of hard work and dedication to his land.

Unfortunately, as it happened, he was not lucky at all from the moment of his birth, and so he didn't have land – and without it, the other two were not enough to fill his hungry stomach. But, he was a hobbit with high aspirations that knew right from wrong and so he tried to be a good person. The never took from those who didn't have enough for themselves. He never took more than he needed and when he happened to acquire more than he could eat, he was glad to share it with the less fortunate. His mother taught him that what goes round comes round and gods always keep score of anyone's good and bad deeds. It was better to stay in people's minds as a small, non-offensive hobbit that came and went with a smile in his eyes and a good word on his lips. They were less inclined to be cruel if he's been caught.

That is, if they've managed to catch him.

Because Bilbo Baggins was good at that he did. Very good. The last time he's been caught was when he was still a tween and so hungry that he discarded weariness for a chance of food. It was a mistake that left scars on his back and a permanent fear in his heart – marking one place in whole Middle Earth he wouldn't ever visit again.

Since that time he was as good as any at surviving on his own. There was no choice, he perfected his technique: made his steps quieter, his hands gentler than a whisper of wind, his eyes sharper than hawk's. And he worked hard on that one extra advantage that his mother has left him before her death.

And it all worked splendidly – right until he's made one stupid mistake.

.

.

* * *

.

.

It was, in retrospection, stupid to think that an inn run by a dwarf would be a good place for a small hobbit to stay at. He should know that he would stand out like a sore thumb, with his tattered cloak and walking stick instead of a sword. It was a dangerous land, full of muggers and marauders who took whatever they could – be it money, clothes or lives, and most of the travellers were prepared to defend themselves.

Establishments such as this catered to a very specific crowd.

But Bilbo had an excuse of being exhausted and so very hungry and cold, – he was walking all the way from Bree; he's spent almost a fortnight on the road. For the first couple of days he's had a company of a family of Big People who, seeing his small posture, took pity on him and allowed him to ride on their cart where he entertained their children with his tales of faraway lands (all made up of course, but the little ones listened and their eyes shone with excitement and it was all that mattered, really). Unfortunately they weren't heading towards Rivendell, but to some other location so after few days of happy chatter and shared food Bilbo had to wish them all the best and continue on foot.

Hobbit's feet were sturdy little things, but they were attached to rather delicate creatures so when his food started to run out and nights became colder, Bilbo started losing hope. He planned to get to Rivendell before the winter – big crown city was perfect for keeping one small fellow like him from freezing and starving. He would do well there. If, that is, he could get there.

Just as he came to losing hope, his eyes saw the most beautiful thing – the lights in the windows of an inn. As he came closer to the building set a little way from the main tract naturally he became more wary, his moves more careful. There has been no horses tied to the banister in front of it, but the music and loud cheers were heard from the inside, so there had to be a stable around. That was good news – a place to sleep, at least, that would be warm and dry. And if he's lucky, there would be a chance of finding some apples or carrots that some people fed their horses with.

So, as stealthily as he could, Bilbo sneaked around the building and, indeed, there have been a stable on the other side of it. It took just a little work with his fingers and a piece of thin metal rod for the padlock on a little side door to open. And then Bilbo stepped into warm, humid air that smelled of horses, of course, and straw. It was dark, but he could make out the shapes of stalls and their occupants – a few big horses and a couple of ponies. The animals closest to him made some nervous noises, but calmed quickly, smelling a hobbit.

For some reason no animal has been ever afraid of a hobbit. Which was a blessing and a curse in one.

Bilbo closed the door behind him and looked around, his eyes travelling up and, yes, that was a ladder leading to a roof space where the straw has been stored. If he's lucky, maybe there's some food also. He would have to be sneaky and hide well, but this night he won't have to freeze on the unforgiving ground or on a hard branch.

Until that point it was going pretty well, the hobbit decided while climbing the ladder.

He should know it was all the luck he would get.

.

.

* * *

.

.

He was woken up by voices not long after he fell asleep hidden in a pile of straw, under some old blankets he's found lying around. He was cosy and warm, and if he was any other hobbit gentle murmurs from the bottom of the stable wouldn't even stir him. But he was who he was and he wasn't welcome there, so every whisper was a wakeup call.

When voices stayed down, not showing willingness to climb the ladder, Bilbo dared to crawl from under the blanket, gently, gently, and peer over the edge of the hatch. The gate to the stable was open and he could see one person standing on the doorstep, back to him, talking with someone who was still outside. He could not hear their hushed whispers well, but it…

"…will take him… a ride… hunt…"

"…careful, remember… I have to… will join you soon…"

"Yes… always… care of yourself…"

And at that, the man (it was a man, certainly, if a little on the short side) embraced with whoever was there and went to one of the ponies to saddle it. Bilbo watched with fascination, even if even more careful now because of the lamp the stranger brought with him. It was a dwarf, he realised after a short while, but unlike any Bilbo ha's ever seen. He was… well, quite tall for one. And not very wide. And his hair was of the colour of pure gold; likewise his beard that was surprisingly short and well kept. He seemed to be very young…

Bilbo, as he lived, has never seen a young dwarf before, or a blond one at that, so he was obviously fascinated. He watched the dwarf saddling up his pony and wondered where was he going at this time – it was very dark outside, middle of the night probably. That poor pony won't see anything in its way!

The dwarf kept whistling quietly as he worked and the gentle sound almost sent him to sleep – but he awoke with a start when the whistling was interrupted by a cuss.

"Damn it! Forgot about…"

Bilbo didn't hear what was forgotten, but his eyes snapped open when the stranger put down his saddlebags on the floor and marched out of the stable.

And that, my friends, was an occasion that someone hungry and in need of a new coat couldn't afford to miss.

Quick analysis of the situation – the dwarf was well dressed, in sturdy, well-made clothes, didn't look hungry or poor, in fact he could easily share his wealth with others – allowed Bilbo to make up his mind. He would have to hurry, though if he wanted to go through the bags as their owner could come back at any minute. No, he's left his lamp and the stable was a trap, the risk was too big to just get down there and hope for the best.

No, for situations such as this one, his family had a special help.

He dug under the collar of his old tunic until his fingers touched the thin metal chain that hung around his neck for the last twenty years. Bilbo gently took it off and there it was, a thin golden ring hanging of the chain like a pendant. It was a simple, yet pretty affair; too small for the fingers of Men or dwarves and plain enough not to catch their eye. As it was, Bilbo never wore it where anyone could see – he never took it off the chain at all. For one simple reason – he would not bear to lose it.

It was the last thing that was left of his family, of his mother, her last gift to him. It was a treasure in more ways than one.

Especially when one needed to become invisible.

Bilbo sat down on the hatch, legs firmly on the ladder and took a deep breath before slipping the ring on his right forefinger. There was no change to be felt, he's learned a long time ago, nothing spectacular happened to him. He just disappeared.

Not entirely, mind. He was still there, if one looked hard enough they could see the outlines of his body – more so, if he was exhausted or couldn't be bothered to focus properly, – but most of the time it was enough to fool even the sharpest of eyes. He could sneak in the shadows like a cat, hide better than a mouse in the stack of hay.

Slowly, but calmly, Bilbo stepped on the floor and moved to the saddlebags left without care. They were stuffed full and his little fingers itched to go through them – his curiosity was always bigger than his common sense, it seemed. But he reined it in and chose to start his search from the small side pockets.

It took him a short time to reach to the bottom of the bag and every second painted him more and more surprised – there was no money to be found. Clothes and weapons, and a bit of food (that quickly went into Bilbo's own small bag), but nothing of worth. Although a pair of knives was rather well made if heavy and crude… too big for him anyway. And selling them would have to wait until he gets to Rivendell. No, he would leave the knives.

As the time trickled by his keen ears were trained on the direction of the gate – listening for the known sound of heavy footsteps that would signal his escape.

But there has to be something useful in the bags! Some trinket; something that would fetch a price and not look too out of order on a hobbit.

Oh, what's this…

"…yeah, I will be going now!"

Bilbo froze, hearing the voice of the blond dwarf closer than he expected, just outside of the gate. Quick as a startled ferret he pocketed the leather pouch he fished out of the bags and moved away on silent feet barely managing to hide behind an empty stall when its' owner came in.

That was close.

His heart thudded in his small chest and he tried to breathe slowly as to not be heard. His hands shook when he was hiding the pouch away and he could do nothing about it. The ring was sapping his strength if left on for too long, but there was no way he would take it off now when the stranger was still in there with him and there was still a chance of being seen…

"What in the… oh no!" quiet cussing after that and a mad rustle of cloth caused his wild heart to stop. "Where is it, where is it…"

Oh, what a bad luck, the dwarf realised that he has been… borrowed from. Oh no, what to do, what to do…

As much as Bilbo didn't want to go out in the cold night and lose his warm, comfortable straw, he had no other option. He would have to get to the side door and hide outside. They will probably search the stables, and if he's lucky he will be able to come back after they go away.

Moving as silently as possible for a sneaking mouse, the hobbit crept around the stalls, one ear pointed in the direction of the frantic now dwarf, eyes firmly fixed on his only escape route. For a moment he stood by the small door, unsure if he could open it without being seen…

That's when his luck decided to abandon him for good with a rather spectacular goodbye.

Bilbo was about to press the handle when a pony in the stall closest to him, probably dreaming of green pastures, stumbled into the wooden wall and, startled, reared back with a whine. Which of course drew the attention of the dwarf and startled the thief for a long enough moment to lose his concentration and…

"You!"

…become visible.

From that point on it was every hobbit for himself – Bilbo shot out of the stable like a rat chased by a pack of hounds. Straight into the dark forest behind the inn, hoping it will help him lose the pursuit. His feet hit the frozen ground and his lungs burned from cold air, but he was not about to stop or take the ring off yet, even if he became weaker by the moment. He could hear the noise behind, footsteps much heavier than his, but strangely no screams. Dark forest around him thickened with low bushes and prickly juniper; blackberries smacked his calves and knees, catching on his threadbare trousers and ripping out holes, but Bilbo didn't think to stop. If he had a problem with running through this thicket, then the dwarf would have even harder time of it. There was a chance of clean escape!

Of course, that chance was quickly washed away by the means of a stray root that hooked over one of his feet, tripping him face first into the ground.

"Just my luck," groused Bilbo, spitting out needles and dirt, raising to hands and knees, and taking quick stock of his body. It hurt. But he was whole and he could get up and run.

Or he would, if not for the growl he's heard over his head.

Minutely frozen, the hobbit dared to raise his head slightly, eyes wide, trying to see the source of the ominous sound. It was so dark that for the longest moment he was unable to see anything, and when his eyes finally saw the shadow moving in front of his face it was only because it was much darker than the night around it. Black as the abyss the beast was, big as the biggest wolf he's ever seen, with jaws full of gleaming teeth…

A warg!

He could not move as the predator stepped close to him, barely seeing, but feeling hot breath hitting his face with a whiff of blood. His little heart almost gave out then and there. Crouched on all fours, cold and in pain, Bilbo Baggins waited for his death.

But it was the crashing sound of footsteps that came before it and the light from a lantern making its way to him. Bilbo would do without the latter, really, because as much comfort as it might have given him in different situation, it made the beast in front of him visible and that… wasn't good at all.

It was not a warg, small mercy, but it was still terrifying and it looked at him with hunger and… amusement? It had the bluest eyes, though.

"There you are!" Sound of footsteps slowed down as the light poured over two forms: one little and shivering, the other big and black. "Good, you've caught him, dulgi! I could not see well, he runs like a shadow!"

Bilbo jumped, startled, when the beast crouched low and made a strange sounding yipp. It sounded an awful lot like a bark, but the sheer size of the animal made it to resemble a growl more.

"Now, let's see who was bold enough to steal from us! I promise you, lad, no matter your age, I will tan your backside as if… "

He was grabbed by the arm and roughly pulled back around, to face his captor. Away from the black wolf and his distressing teeth, but closer to the angry dwarf that ranted at him until the light of the lantern hit his face. Then he stopped speaking and stared.

"Oh… you're not a child," was the profound observation that Bilbo almost snorted at. It was a common mistake so he could forgive his captor, he could be a pretty forgiving person. "You're so tiny…"

Well, that was a little harder to forgive.

"What are you?"

Dwarf's eyes were also very blue and not at all angry as he stared at the hobbit with naked wonder on his face. But his hand, clenched on the thin arm, was strong as iron and didn't leave Bilbo a chance to escape. He was also quite horrified and very tired, so the answer came to him slower than he hoped.

"I'm a… hobbit…" he whispered. "I'm sorry… truly, it's just that… I haven't… in few days… and then…"

He was not above begging for his life – but it only tended to work when the begging person made sense. He was not making any.

"A hobbit?" The dwarf repeated new word carefully. And then he smiled. "A hobbit thief!"

"No!... well, yes, but…"

"A little tiny burglar!"

"Now wait a moment…"

"Oh this is perfect!" the dwarf smirked, grabbing both thin arms and shaking the unfortunate thief as if he was a doll. "Exactly what we were looking for isn't it, dulgi?"

The wolf-like-beast appeared next to the blond and nuzzled his cheek while staring at their captive with the same sparkle of… something in its eyes. Bilbo was too shocked and too scared to actually care at the moment.

"We have to take him back to the inn," the dwarf continued talking to it as if the monster could understand his words. "Uncle will be pleased! I mean, after we get the map back from him. Where do you have it, burglar?"

"…what?"

"The map you stole from me!"

At that the beast growled once more and Bilbo almost sprained his back trying to reach into the bag to get the worn leather pouch. Dwarf took it from him and pocketed it with a sigh of relief and then turned them both in the direction of the inn and picked the lantern from the ground.

With an angry dwarf holding his arm at one side and a wolf-like beast almost bigger than him on the other, Bilbo had no choice but to march to his demise. The thought of escape didn't even cross his mind. Likewise, the thought of the ring that was not on his finger anymore; and certainly not the question of why the wolf looked so pleased with itself.

.

.

* * *

.

.

And that was how Bilbo Baggins found himself in a room full of dwarves, dressed in a blanket and staring at the contract that spelled out his imminent death.

.

.

.

* * *

Link to the prompt: . ?thread=3858754t3858754


	2. Chapter 2

.

.

.

He was ushered back into the stable and led to one of the empty stalls, where the blond dwarf let him go. At this point Bilbo was so exhausted that his legs simply gave out and he sat heavily on a small pile of straw, pulling his coat tighter around his shoulders.

The dwarf looked at him with confusion – he wasn't even a little winded, - but gave it up with a shrug. He crouched down to look at the halfling in better light and said sternly.

"Stay here, mister burglar. I advise you not to try running again, if you don't want to end up as a meal for my companion."

As if on cue, black beast that followed them in from the forest appeared by their side and growled menacingly, adding its own treat to the one that was already quite prominent, thank you. Bilbo shuddered and somehow managed to bow his head a little lower in silent agreement. He didn't think he would be up to running yet, anyway. He was too tired and hungry. And his legs hurt something terrible.

"Good, stay here with him," these words were directed to the beast. "And don't eat him, if you can help it, dulgi, he may be of use to us."

The best whined in a mock-protest before it settled itself down on the floor in front of the hobbit, cutting away his only escape route with the massive bulk if its' body.

Bilbo tried not to make any sudden moves as he attempted to find a more comfortable position on the cold floor. Knees pulled to his chest and leaning on the wooden wall behind, he wished that his tattered travelling cloak was big enough to hide under. He could feel the beast's eyes tracking his every move and was really hard not to imagine how sharp were these white fangs and how hard would they clench on his thin, miserable body.

It was the end, Bilbo knew, it had to end like that. No one was fast enough to escape their fate. Will they whip him, as the blond dwarf threatened? Will they give him to local authorities to be locked up forever? Will they… kill him?

Men were pretty predictable, but dwarves? Bilbo knew nothing about their laws and customs. Heavens, he didn't even suspect that they've kept wolf-monsters as pets!

He hoped that dwarven law didn't permit using hobbits as a dog food.

"I am really not that tasty," he whispered to the beast, hoping it will understand and feeling silly for it. "Hobbits are bony and dry, believe me, not much meat on me on the best of days."

The wolfbeast looked at him and tilted its head, ears moving forward in a sign of curiosity before it made a strange huffing sound that could be taken for laughter… was it laughing at him?

"Oh, this is great," Bilbo complained quietly, hysterical giggles brewing at the bottom of his stomach. "That's all you're good for, master Baggins, even dogs don't take you seriously."

He's barely had time to cover his head when the "dog" jumped at him with a wild growl and bared teeth. Trapped between its massive paws the hobbit almost fainted of fear. Well, not almost.

.

.

* * *

.

.

Waking up was something of a surprise – considering that, for one, Bilbo didn't expect it to happen at all. Memory of wicked fangs and sharp claws was still fresh in his mind; the best was crazy, certainly, to attack him without any provocation! But he was in one piece, as far as he could tell.

The second surprise came in the form of… warmth. He was warm, hot even, and the surface he was lying on was much softer than any floor he's ever rested on. It almost felt like a bed, but Bilbo didn't have enough experience with those to tell for certain.

The third surprise was the voices.

"…a dog, honestly!" One was young and huffish.

"Kili, the map, please." And the other was mature and stern.

"Here. I am sorry, uncle, we should've protected it better. Fili is also very sorry."

"I am rather surprised that he's managed to get away from you in the first place. Your eyes are very good after the dark and Fili's are no worse. "

"I know, uncle Thorin, but he was moving fast and… it was really hard to keep track of him. He seemed to disappear in the shadows and I had to rely on dulgi's keen nose more than his eyes."

Oh, Bilbo realised, these voices weren't talking about anything good. They were talking about his ring and… wait his ring? Was it still around his neck? He didn't remember putting it on, but he had to…

"Well, he did manage to steal from you," a third voice joined the conversation, this one very old and slightly wheezy. "As far as thieves go, this one passed the test."

The test?

"I haven't seen a hobbit in a very long while, my friends, but I know enough not to underestimate them. Little they may be, but they're certainly capable enough. Although this… disappearing act of his intrigues me."

Bilbo almost chocked, trying to breathe slowly and steadily while his heart thundered in his chest like startled rabbit's. But he had to stay silent and not give himself away, he just had to. There was no telling what these strangers had planned for him. He didn't dare to open his eyes.

"I think I can help you with that, mister wizard." The young one, Kili, said out of the blue.

A wizard? Oh no!

"Here, I found it where he fell. It slipped off his hand and from this point on he was very visible."

Bilbo's eyes shot open and he was up in a blink, hands reaching to his neck, but for naught, oh, for naught, because he could see the ring in the hand of a young dwarf that was about to hand it to the old grey-haired Man. That couldn't happen! Simply couldn't!

He threw himself towards them with arms outstretched, and cried in denial when someone grabbed him before his feet even touched the floor.

"No! Please, don't!" he begged, when that someone dragged him back with ease, as if he was nothing, but a child. "Please, give it back! Don't…! Give it back, please!"

He tried to get free, without daring to tear his eyes away from the little golden band dangling on a chain between two startled men who stared at him in wonder.

"Calm down!" ordered a strong voice over Bilbo's head (uncle Thorin, that would be) before even stronger arm tightened around his middle and threw him back on the bed. "Stay. Still."

Did he bite him? Oh heavens, he did, didn't he? He didn't mean to, especially that this dwarf was older and taller and darker, and also exceptionally unimpressed with the flailing, panicking thief.

Bilbo didn't really care for the last part, rarely ever was anyone impressed with him really, all his attention was on the ring. He prepared for another attempt at reclaiming it – that is, until a very sharp end of a very big sword rested against his chest.

"Calm. Down." Repeated the dwarf holding that impressive weapon without any visible effort. Only his voice was somewhat strained. "Shut. Up."

He didn't raise his voice, but the hard whisper was enough to freeze Bilbo in place even as he dared to utter one last desperate "please."

"Now, this was certainly surprising," old Man laughed at the scene. He lifted a long pipe to his lips and blew a puff of smoke before continuing in much steadier manner. "I think that our thief finds himself in much better state than dear Orsa implied."

"Such a relief, indeed," Thorin's bland expression shamelessly contradicted his words. "State your name, thief!"

"Bilbo!" the hobbit answered without thought, attention divided between the blade poking at his sternum and his property still in the hands of that… Kili. "Bilbo Baggins… oh no, please…"

Younger dwarf, having finally realised that the object in his hand is the cause of all that chaos, smirked cheekily and twirled the chain around his finder. He was a strange sight, so young and almost beardless, but the mischievous glint in his eyes was a warning enough before he mock-threw the ring in the direction of the fireplace….

"No, don't!"

…only to have big wrinkled hand take it from him.

"That will be quite enough, Kili," the wizard chided. "You are very unkind to the poor lad."

The exclamation of "but he stole from us!" went unheard as the Man turned to Thorin and eyed his blade with disgust.

"For heaven's sake, put that meat cleaver away! Pointing it at him won't make him agree to your demands any easier than reasonable talk will!"

Muttered "You'd be surprised how agreeable some are while facing uncle's sword," from the youngest one was, again, ignored.

Thorin's answer carried more weight and seriousness.

"If it is as you say and he isn't a child, then I see no reason not to be cautious, wizard."

"You saw that he can barely stand, you stubborn dwarf! He won't disappear on you."

"I've also heard that may not be the case. He stole from us, Gandalf," blue eyes hardened with an ice-cold glare. "That alone should cost him an arm!"

"I'm sorry!"

The outburst caused all three to look back to the hobbit that was crouched in the corner of the bed, shaking and pale.

"I am sorry…" Bilbo could feel tears gathering in his eyes and could do nothing about it. He pulled his arms close to the chest and let out a loud sob. He wasn't even playing it up this time, this was genuine fear. "Sorry for stealing from you, I was just hungry… I haven't eaten in days and… just don't… not my hands, please, if you could kill me… just not hands..."

After that silence fell over the room, disturbed only by fire crackling in the fireplace. Finally, with some unreadable expression on his face, Thorin sheathed the sword and stepped back from the bed – to silent astonishment of his nephew who, however, levelled with one sharp stare, quickly decided to look elsewhere.

The wizard sat back on a chair that was a bit too small for his long limbs and pulled at his beard in thought, small clouds of smoke leaving his lips in even intervals before he spoke:

"Now, now, no limbs will be chopped of. No, Kili!" He sent his own glare at the young dwarf who was about to open his mouth. "We just have to calm down and speak like grown up people… and dwarves… and hobbits."

"I don't see what's there to discuss!" Kili snapped, obviously trying not to pout. "Just make him sign the Contract and let's be on our way!"

Contract? What Contract? And why with the capital "C"?

And what about his ring…

"You see, lad, the Contract can't be signed by an unwilling party," old man explained patiently. "You have to find a way to… convince mister Baggins here to agree to help you out."

"And why do I have a feeling that you already know of the way to do it?" Thorin asked calmly, his eyes never leaving the thief. "After all, it may be easier to find another, more agreeable, after we deal with this one."

Deal? As in deal?

Oh, heavens!

"Ah, my friend, but you won't find a thief quite like this one anywhere else."

Bilbo decidedly didn't like the look that the… wizard?... regarded him with.

"This is no petty thief your nephews have caught you, Thorin Oakenshield."

"He is smaller than the rest, we already know it," Kili smirked and never in his life Bilbo wanted to punch someone that badly!

"If only that, Kili, if only that," the Man smiled and presented him the ring, carefully holding it by the chain. "Be a good lad and put it on mister Baggins' finger."

Both dwarves looked at him as if he just asked them to get on their knees and bark.

"Go on, boy, there's nothing to be afraid of; I am sure that your uncle will be quick to defend you from anything that one starved hobbit could throw at you."

The jeer has obviously touched a sore spot, because not a moment later Bilbo was faced with an angry dwarf that made to grab his hand… and of course he was faster than one starved hobbit who didn't have much space to retreat into. His left arm was pulled forward and the ring forcefully showed on his forefinger.

And the gasps broke out.

He would laugh at the startled expression on the dwarves' faces if his heart didn't decide to stop.

Also, big hard finger poking his chest didn't help.

.

.

* * *

.

.

Gandalf laughed gently at the picture in front of him. It was not every day that one's managed to surprise a dwarf, and even rarer still was rendering speechless one such as young Kili. He was generally a good boy, but oftentimes his age and wildness showed. Thorin was never easy to keep surprised, however, and the shock on his face quickly morphed into wonder, then calculation and in the end settled for the usual, stubborn determination.

The hobbit, as it was, wasn't entirely invisible, but what was left of him in a dim light of the fireplace was no more than a shadow. Like an afterimage left by staring into the sun, an empty space that yet still held something.

And then, of course, the poking started.

"How is this possible?" asked Kili staring at his own hand, fingers clenched tightly around thin air. He swathed lightly at the phantom limb and received a strangled grunt for his trouble. "He is still here!"

"Of course he is," Gandalf reassured with a small smile.

In all his years Gandalf has seen this trick only once before and that was a long time ago. But it was the only reason he knew what he's dealing with now.

It was a real marvel that none other than Thorin's nephews have managed to find one of them here, on the Rivendell Tract of all places. And how, by a complete accident!

Gandalf was too old of a wizard to believe in accidents.

"It's the ring," Thorin murmured, eyes distrustful, but interested. "It makes him close to invisible. What magic is that, wizard? I've never heard of it."

"It's not magic, my friend. Kili, if you could be so kind as to take the ring off and stop tormenting our thief for the moment."

This time his request was followed without protest. As he expected, even short exposure (from the lack of better word) weakened the hobbit noticeably. But his torn expression when the ring was taken from him was almost painful to watch. Gandalf didn't like to cause unnecessary pain to any creature, but this case was so complicated that one had to keep their head clear and heart steady. One had to tread carefully to pull the strings of fate together and weave them into desirable outcome.

If offered cards were played right, then maybe they would win a chance for the house of Durin to reclaim its heirs. If not…

"The ring, please."

He took the gold band back, glad that it was too small to fit Kili's fingers. He would rather not think of what would happen if the dwarf has managed to put it on.

"So?" Thorin pressed. "What is it, if not magic?"

"That, my friend, is no simple hobbit," Gandalf answered with a twinkle in his eye. "You've caught yourself a Took."

"What is a "Took"?"

"Well, Kili, a Took is…"

"Are you all quite done with scaring the young one into hysterics?" asked the loud female voice from the doorstep.

A stout dwarvess came into the room carrying a bowl of soup with some bread and her stern gaze momentarily zeroed on the small figure curled in the corner of the bed. She shot a scanting glare towards Thorin and his nephew, in some way knowing that they were responsible for it.

"Stop glowering at him, can't you see how scared the poor thing is?" she snapped, setting the bowl on the small table by the fireplace. "Heavens save us from foolish dwarves! Did any of you even think to give him something to eat? Look at that little thing, skin and bones! And these clothes, barely holding on! Step aside Thorin Oakenshield and you, Kili, help me take him downstairs so my girls can draw him a bath!"

"But he is a thief, Ma!"

"But nothing! Little thing is shivering and starved and no youngling under my roof stays hungry! Make haste, lad, come on!"

Gandalf would laugh at Kili's flabbergasted expression and sheer white-faced horror of the hobbit when he was bundled up in blankets and half-ushered, half-carried out of the room by an imperious dwarf housewife. But he didn't dare to open his mouth even so he could release the smoke from his pipe. Not while lady Orsa was still present and not for a long moment after she was gone. A wise wizard knew to pick his fights.

"Gloin is certainly one lucky dwarf," he spoke at last.

"Indeed he is," answered Thorin with a surprisingly fond look about him. But that didn't last long as his gaze once again turned searching and impatient. "Tell me about the ring and our potential burglar and how he might help us in getting the Stone of Ark."

.

.

* * *

.

.

_"You can use it as a bargaining chip,_" the wizard said to him. _"But carefully, it is as important to him as the key is to you. Do try to be more subtle than… usual. " _

Thorin stared at the halfling sitting on kitchen table, thick blanket covering his bony frame as lady Orsa and her three daughters fussed around him, feeding him warm porridge and rubbing salve into the red welts on his thin shins and forearms. He wanted to scoff at them, but didn't dare to do it, because he vividly remembered how his own sister used to act with her sons. No dwarf was brave enough to step between a dwarvess and a child she decided to fuss over.

Maybe that's why his nephews were both so strong and resilient; because they were brought up with the unmoving strength of their mother standing behind their every step.

The fact that the… hobbit was obviously not a child seemed to matter little to the wife of Gloin, who even without motherly focus was a woman to be respected not only for her beauty, but also because of her widely renowned right hook.

So he decided to wait – either the women would tire or the hobbit would bolt.

It was a strange creature, Thorin had to admit, smaller than a dwarf and certainly much weaker. It looked starved: all sharp angles, protruding bones and pale skin. Would it be up to braving the mountains? He felt torn when he allowed himself to think about the dangers that travelling with them would bring and all the ways in which this little fellow could be harmed or even killed. Wasn't it cruel of him to try and force the halfling to join them? Even as a price for daring to steal from them…

But then his eyes fell on his nephew, standing stiffly in the corner of the kitchen, keeping an eye on the thief. On their burglar.

Their one chance of ending this torment for good.

Kili, the son of his beloved sister that he couldn't save. Suffering day by day because of him, yet willing to lend him his trust; willing to trust into Thorin Oakenshield, a dwarf who would gladly die for his happiness… for both of them, his beloved nephews. If only that was enough, he would do it without second thought!

But it wasn't; and he didn't have the right to throw away any chance that was given to them by the gods. If Gandalf's words were true, then this was the best they could hope for, that little hobbit-creature that was maybe good enough to do what they couldn't.

"They are about to braid his hair," Kili muttered into his ear, having come closer. His face was amused and displeased at the same time. "They stuffed him full of broth and good bits from the stew pot!"

"Jealous, nephew?" Thorin allowed rare smirk to grace his lips. "It was a while since a dwarvess fussed so over you."

Kili spluttered and blushed, still a youngling in so many ways.

But his words were true; the hobbit was about to get smothered if someone doesn't step in. And Thorin, who co-raised two mischievous boys, was good at stepping in.

"Dear Orsa, I would like to talk with mister Baggins, if you're quite finished with your… care."

The dwarvess scowled a little, clearly displeased at being interrupted just as she was about to start braiding (this little one's hair was soft and curly once washed properly, and she just couldn't resist.) But in the end she just huffed and turned back to the stove, her daughters taking it as a cue to retreat to their own tasks. This was the best Thorin could ask for, for no one removed a dwarvess from her kitchen. Especially if said kitchen was used to feed a whole inn of hungry guests.

Having won this much, he stepped to the table and levelled a hard stare at the hobbit – careful not to overdo it in case he was once again accused of 'glowering.' The thief, for that, pulled the blanket tighter about him and lowered his eyes, waiting. He jumped slightly when Thorin reached into the pouch at his hip and pulled a wad of parchment from it.

"You will sign it, hobbit," he said calmly, laying the Contract on the table and unfolding it with care. Hopefully, the halfling didn't know how to read.

He could feel Kili at his side, but he signalled him to step back. It was between him and the thief.

"What is it?" the hobbit asked.

"It's a Contract. Due to your less than honourable conduct we require compensation. As our usual... fare had been advised against, we demand three months of your service after which you will be let free without any further consequences."

"S-service?" Stick-thin fingers tightened on the blanket. "What kind of service?"

Thorin was aware that they weren't alone, but didn't let it stop him. He needed witnesses to the deal anyway, and his friend's family was as good as he could wish for.

"You are a thief, are you not?"

Hobbit fidgeted under his gaze, blushing from embarrassment. What a curious creature.

"Well, sometimes, but…" he stammered. "I mean, not really…"

"You will steal something for me," Thorin said, trying to appear unashamed. Inside, his stomach was twisting at the notion of asking anyone for help. But what had to be done, had to be done. "It was stolen from my family and I want it back."

"I don't know if I'm the right person…"

"If you don't agree to it, I will be forced to keep this as compensation for our trouble."

And there went all of pretence subtlety – when he pulled the ring out of his pocket. He was never good at it anyway, although it felt strange when the thief choked and stared at him, face ashen and eyes watering. He reached out for the chain, but Thorin moved his hand back in silent warning.

"It is not worth much, small as it is, but it's got good weight," he threatened. "It would take but a few strikes of the hammer to reshape it into something else."

"No!" whimpered hobbit, reaching with one shaking hand to grab his sleeve and nodding sharply. "I will sign it, I will serve you, I… I will do whatever you want… just don't, please."

This caused Thorin's stomach to twist from entirely different reason. But he was not above threatening at this point, if only it gets him closer to the goal of this journey. Even Orsa's disapproving glare or Kili's awkward shuffling behind his back couldn't make him step back this time. He was willing to sacrifice every bit of his honour and to hells with it!

He started slightly when the oldest of Gloin's daughters came closer to offer him a small, clean knife that he took with quiet thanks. He used it to make a tiny pinprick on his thumb that he pressed at the bottom of the Contract, smearing a little of his blood on it. Then he held the knife to the hobbit with an expectant look.

Halfling's hands shook as he accepted it and it took Gloin's youngest daughter to steady them and expertly poke at his soft thumb, and later direct it so the bloody print was left right beside Thorin's.

"You are bound by a blood oath, mister thief," Gloin's middle daughter explained with kind voice. "It means that you will fulfil all the conditions contained within it before three months pass. If, for whatever reason, you shy from meeting the terms of said Contract, you will be branded as oath breaker and marked for death. Just so you know," she smiled and danced away to the carrots she's been chopping until now.

Thorin nodded at her with a small smile and she smiled back; Gloin and Orsa raised their children well. The hobbit, however, looked close to fainting again so he decided to reassure him a little.

"The same rule applies to me," he said while folding the Contract and handing it to Kili. "I will give your ring back without any questions asked at the last day of the third month. Until that time, it will stay in the safest place I can provide."

With that said he turned around and put the chain on the neck of his dark-haired nephew who was quite astonished at the move.

"That is the task for you, Kili," he said quietly. "Keep your head on your shoulders, if you can."

"Yeah… yes, uncle, of course!" the boy promised frantically.

"You will need some rations for your thief," Orsa's voice cut into the tender moment with all the subtlety of axe entering a skull. She was still turned away; busy over a big pot of heavenly smelling stew, but her shoulders were tense and her voice resigned. "He will need some clothes too, if you don't want him to freeze to death in the Mountains. I think I will have some things left after Gimli that would fit him pretty well."

"Mountains?" squeaked the halfling only to be ignored.

"Thank you, dear Orsa, you are very kind."

"Are we crossing the mountains?"

"No young one will ever leave my house dressed in rags, master Thorin. You will also need a pony for him."

"Nah," said Kili. "He is so small that Fili would…"

"No!" Thorin cut in before the sentence was finished. "We will buy a pony from Nori and that's it. Thank you, Orsa, we will be back within an hour, have our thief dressed by then."

He left the kitchen with a feeling of triumph echoing in his steps. All was going well; they were finally on the right track, first task has been accomplished with little to no trouble.

They've secured their burglar.

.

.

.


	3. Chapter 3

In which Gandalf is his trollish self and Bilbo gets a first taste of dwarves bearing gifts.

I know it's slow going, but that's how I roll, bbs:)

.

.

.

* * *

Before they set out on the mysterious journey he's met the wizard one more time. Or rather, the wizard found him when he was waiting in the stables, accompanied by lady Orsa's son – Gimli. The dwarfling, in spite of his substantial height was still very young with barely a wisp of hair on his strong jawline, but he was friendly enough and rather talkative.

Bilbo, who always had a soft spot for younglings of any kind, patiently answered all his questions (Why are your feet so big? Why are you wearing my clothes? Are you a real thief? I thought they are bigger than that!), and listened to his jokes – which were actually quite good. And he would've enjoyed them more, if he wasn't so distracted by his new attire.

The clothes were worn and ill-fitting in places (the coat reached almost to his knees and the sleeves covered his fingers to the tips. The belt holding it from flapping on the wind was wide and heavy, something that Bilbo was unused to.), but he didn't dare to complain, even if three shirts and a vest under the coat were already causing him to sweat.

Because every article was clean and well cared for, and easily better than his previous garments.

Above all else, it was a sign of kindness that Bilbo so rarely got to experience from others. The dwarf woman was very pushy and a little scary in her efforts to mother him, but she, like her family, seemed genuinely kind.

Unlike that other dwarf family he could mention.

The hobbit was just listening to young Gimli telling him some great joke about elves when they both heard a polite cough and turned to see an old man smiling at them from the stable's gate.

"I don't think your father would be happy that you know such crude jokes, Gimli." The wizard said, taking seat on a bale of hay and pulling out his pipe. "Neither would your mother, for that matter."

Bilbo tensed momentarily, trying to stifle decades-old instinct that told him to run. This was one of the Big People and those were rarely friendly. He was also a wizard and wizards knew things that no one wanted them to know. Moreover, he knew of the ring and Tooks!

"I see that you're quite ready for the journey," the Man spoke cordially and Bilbo shifted on his feet, aware how unusual he had to look in his borrowed dwarven clothing. "Dear Orsa is a sweetheart."

"Ma wanted to give him boots, but he ain't want any," Gimli piped up, puzzled.

"That's quite alright, Gimli, hobbits can do without shoes," the wizard explained with a patient smile.

"But it's winter!"

"Even so. It was still kind of your mother to offer, wasn't it so, Mister Baggins?"

"Ah… yeah, very kind." Bilbo tried to stay in place when they both turned to him. "She has my undying gratitude."

What do you want? - He wanted to ask the Man, but didn't dare to. This was a wizard after all. Old and thin, but he carried a presence that was clearly visible even though the thick cloud of smoke from his pipe.

"I would like to talk with Mister Baggins before he has to leave, lad," the Man in question turned to Gimli. "In private, if you would."

The dwarfling dragged his legs, obviously curious, but soon enough Bilbo was left alone with the old man. He didn't quite know what to do, so he just stood there, by the date, waiting for the wizard to reveal his intentions. He didn't have to wait long, thank heavens.

"You are quite a surprise, mister hobbit," the wizard spoke quietly. "I haven't seen any of your kind in years. And it's even longer since I've seen any of your kind."

The emphasis was impossible to miss and misunderstand, no matter how much Bilbo wished to do just that.

"A Took, dear heavens! Such fascinating bunch they were, that's for sure. And a ring-bearer at that!" And just like that, Man's eyes become sad and clouded with regret as he puffed on a pipe and bowed his grey head slightly. "It is an honour as well as a great shame to meet one in such circumstances."

"Then why did you tell them?" Bilbo dared to ask. "Why did you give them the ring if you knew…"

"Because, my boy, nothing happens without reason and your presence here yesterday was not accidental." Sadness gone, the wizard's face took on a conniving look. "These three… they will not mistreat you; Thorin Oakenshield is a man of his word, that I can promise you. But he and his nephews need a very specific help that only one of your kind could provide effectively… And here you are, Mister Baggins, completely unexpected, yet impeccably timed."

"But it has to be a mistake!" Bilbo cried, shaking his head in denial. "I was just hungry and cold and… I just stopped here for the night!"

"And if you had stopped here couple of hours later, you'd have missed them," was the smug answer. "And it may be an accident or not… but the three of them can't risk wasting that chance."

"A chance for what? I don't understand anything!" Was it too much to expect things to start making sense again? "I don't want to go anywhere. Lady Orsa was very kind, but I just want my ring back and to be free of that… that darned Contract! What did I even sign up for?"

"Hmm, that ring is a powerful artefact, indeed," the Man completely changed the subject. "I have to admit, I never expected it to be so… Just looking at it made me aware," he glanced at the hobbit," how strongly they feel for you."

Bilbo looked away; almost walked away. He didn't want to hear that.

"You are well protected, Bilbo Baggins, and well loved."

"And what good does it do, if they're all dead?" he asked tersely and he didn't mean to. Oh, how he didn't mean to.

The wizard closed his eyes and his face clouded with sorrow. And Bilbo didn't understand how it was that a Man could know, much else grieve for his people and then willingly give the ring out to some… brutes who used it to bargain with him for his freedom!

The tense atmosphere was somehow rescued (from the lack of a better word) by the arrival of said brutes. They weren't in a hurry, but their steps carried purpose as they led three stocky ponies laden with packs. Thorin and his nephew both looked fairly impatient and ready to head out; both were clothed in thick cloaks and furs, and armed with heavy swords and short bows they didn't even try to conceal. Bilbo knew that Rivendell Tract was an easy place to attract trouble, but it seemed a little excessive, – and was it chainmail he's seen peeking from under Thorin's coat?

Where were they going? Would he need a weapon to defend himself, if push came to shove?

He was so engrossed in worry that he almost missed distrustful looks the pair threw towards the wizard as they stopped just outside the sable. It seemed a little strange to him, but he could care less for pleasantries as his eyes fixated on the younger dwarf – specifically, on his neck. He could not see the ring under all that clothing, but he could swear that he feels its presence. Maybe he was deluding himself, but even so… it was a nice thought.

But he would have to keep an eye on that Kili; if anything happens to him… if there's a slightest chance of taking the ring back, he knew he will take it, Contract or no Contract.

"I hope that you know how to ride."

Grimm voice brought him back from his musings as he was approached by an impassive Thorin who said "Myrtle," before showing the reins in his hands and stalking away with his black steed in tow. Bilbo was left to stare at a rather pleasant looking chestnut mare. For a moment he thought to offer his thanks to the dwarf – from what he's heard in Orsa's kitchen the pony was bought specifically for him, which was no small thing at all.

But he could also clearly remember being chased, terrified, manhandled and coerced into cooperation by the means of blackmail – and that really made for a terrible first impression.

"Get on, mister thief," Kili called to him form the back of his own grey steed. "You can ride, right?"

Expression of doubt on his face almost made Bilbo huff in annoyance at the sheer audacity of that brat! Of course he knew how to ride a pony; he wasn't some wildling for goodness sake!

The saddle was a novelty, sure, but it surely couldn't make that much of a difference.

Surprisingly, it was the wizard who steadied Myrtle when Bilbo's ungraceful efforts at climbing startled the pony. It was just a minor mishap, the stirrups were too high, and the hobbit would feel nothing for it, if not for the unimpressed stare that Thorin Oakenshield directed his way. That was something Bilbo that felt he will have to get used to pretty quickly, if he wanted to get out of this whole journey with his nerves intact.

"I wish you all the luck," the wizard said to them, his voice surprisingly grim. "May we meet again, my friends, after this whole dreadful business is done and dusted."

Thorin inclined his head in a regal nod and his nephew did the same, adding:

"I will pass your good wishes on to Fili," he promised.

"Of course, lad, that's what I expect of you."

And that was the last time Bilbo saw the grey-bearded wizard.

Only after an hour or so of riding, he realised that despite the long conversation the old Man didn't answer even one of his questions.

Which was not reassuring at all.

.

.

.

.


	4. Chapter 4

I moved the action back a little to make space for the re-introduction of our favourite blond dwarfling:)

Yes, Fili will be my Isabeau in this story: a pleasant and friendly balance to Thorin's (Navarre's) harshness and Kili's (mini!Navarre's) hastiness.  
Enjoy... I hope:).

.

.

.

* * *

They rode in silence. For the most part they've been keeping to the Tract and stayed in the same formation – Kili at the front, Bilbo behind him and Thorin in the back, keeping an eye on things. Bilbo found it somewhat strange for the leader of this whole trip to not, well, lead, leaving it instead to the hot-headed youngster.

Said youngster was in constant movement, thought. His head kept shifting to the sides, eyes sharp and ears perked up, obviously listening to the sounds of the forest around them – which really did nothing to ease Bilbo's nerves. These woods were old and thick, and often used as a hiding place for rather unsavoury element. Rivendell Tract was an important trade route between East and West and so it was tightly patrolled by Lord Elrond's knights, but woods outside of the main road were a completely different matter.

Bilbo travelled this road a few times in his life, from one end to another, and he always tried to arrange matters so that he would not be alone. He was a small fellow after all; joining a bigger group was a wise move.

But what would those dwarves have to look out for? They were both visibly armed and although their clothes were of good quality, their image didn't advertise wealth. As far as Bilbo was concerned, it clearly and simply advertised – danger. None, sans a very desperate group of ruffians, would dare to try and mug them.

So that was one more thing to store on his growing list of worries.

Another was the way the youngest member of their little company kept… disappearing.

Every hour or two he was slowing his pony down, while mentioning for Bilbo to carry on, and waiting for his uncle to catch up. After they swapped few short words in some clipped, rough language Kili was pulling his dapple to the side to disappear in the thicket between the trees. Only to return after ten or more minutes with an air of gladness around him that was hard to place. Bilbo didn't have a slightest idea what it could mean – he's crossed off the notion of toilet breaks long ago, because who had to go that often? – but those short disappearances made him sweat with worry for the ring.

Not to mention that they've left him alone in the presence of imposing Thorin Oakenshield and his impassive stare; which was even worse for his poor heart.

They rode throughout the day, keeping a good, steady pace that didn't tire the ponies too much, but there was no break for rest and even the mid-day meal was eaten on horseback. It could mean that while not in a hurry, the dwarves clearly wanted to get somewhere rather sooner than later. Or they just wanted to get off the tract as fast as possible without attracting attention.

That assumption was further confirmed when Bilbo realised that beside the disappearing act of the nephew and few whispered conversations, his companions (from the lack of better word) were very quiet. And that they've kept to the Tract only when it was clear of other wayfarers.

Were they criminals? Then it would make sense for them to fear Elrond's patrols.

Then again, Bilbo was a criminal (borrower!) himself and he would rather avoid them too.

In the end it was the silence that bothered him the most. He wasn't feeling lonely, as he was alone for the most part of his life and has learned to take it as a natural state of things, but he was bored. He would surely do with some entertainment – just to take his mind off how cold it was and how his back was starting to stiffen from hours of riding. Myrtle was an obedient, mild-mannered mare, wide and stable in her steps, but hobbits were primarily ground-dwellers and hardly used to exercising their muscles in this way. Walking kept them warm and focused, in the saddle they tended to… drift, thinking about how their fingers are cold and their toes all stiff, and how did it happen that their lives turned out this way?

Ugh, would it kill any of the hairy duo to explain what this was all about? Or where they were going?

And what about the third one, where was he? The wizard clearly said "them three" when describing the group, so where was the third member? Was it the blond one? The one with a wolf-beast to call?

At this thought Bilbo shuddered atop the pony, praying that it wasn't so. He would do without black, crazy monsters after his hide, thank you very much! Crazy dwarves were plenty enough for one hobbit to deal with.

Even if they seemed set on ignoring him.

And what if he's escaped? Would that Contract really hold this kind of power over his life?

If he's caused Myrtle to bolt, made some commotion and slipped off into the trees before his companions managed to catch him? He was quick on his feet when the situation demanded it and like every good borrower he was also good at using distraction to his advantage. Surely…

But that would mean leaving the ring behind and just thinking about it made Bilbo's heart clench. He couldn't do it. He would have to get it back before he even thinks of escaping.

It would be so much easier if the dwarf wearing it was a little smaller, weaker, unarmed and, apparently, not gone again to heavens know where!

It was late evening when Bilbo finally realised that he was nodding off in the saddle. He looked around frantically to get his bearing back and met with a bemused stare of the dwarf riding now in front of him. Thorin Oakenshield didn't exactly acknowledge his panicked scrambling, but one would think that a corner of his tightly pressed lips inched up a notch.

"Excuse me!" Bilbo dared to call.

Thorin didn't exactly turn around, but he tilted his head enough to signal that he's listening. Good. Now just a big breath and try to keep from stuttering, Bilbo Baggins.

"I would really like to know what I signed up to do this morning and where we are going," Bilbo said a little louder than he intended. And then decided to add: "If you'd be so kind to explain."

Mother always made sure to remind him that being polite was important to hobbits so the "who are you?" and "why me?" he decided to leave for later as rather rude and risky.

"We are heading East," answered the dwarf, still not turning back. "And you will be informed what to do when we get there."

"But where exactly in the East?"

"This is not your concern yet."

Bilbo spluttered at that. Not his concern? Not his? He was the unwilling party here! Of course he was concerned where they were leading him!

"I beg your pardon, mister dwarf!"

"Accepted. Now quiet down, thief, we don't want to garner attention."

Oh this was just great! Being shushed like a child at his age!

"I have a name, you know," he grumbled unhappily, so quietly that only his pony could hear. "And I am not a thief!" Myrtle didn't seem to care one way or another.

Just as Bilbo gathered the courage to repeat these words louder Thorin pulled on the reins and his horse turned left, walking off the Tract, straight into the forest.

"Follow," the dwarf said, inclining his head regally.

Bilbo scrambled to do just that.

"I am not a dog!" he complained under his breath, trying to keep Myrtle on course in the grey winter dusk. It didn't snow yet, so the nights were of Bilbo's least favourite kind – bright enough to give him an illusion of sight and rob him of the wariness that true dark brought on. One would not walk into a tree, but they scored every hole in the ground and every upraised root.

Thorin seemed unaffected by this, however, just as his black steed that walked almost in a straight line – as if the trees themselves decided to move out of their way.

They've spent a better part of the hour tearing through the underbrush with no sight of the younger dwarf. It was not that late yet, but winter's sun hid quickly these days and soon it was hard for Bilbo to make out as much as the outline of the black pony in front of his own. It was also getting colder as the time went by and soon the hobbit was stupidly grateful for the long sleeves of his borrowed coat that hung over his fingers.

He was almost desperate enough to start questioning Thorin again, when they happened upon a small, well hidden clearing turned into a temporary camp. Low bonfire was a welcome sight for tired eyes and Bilbo almost sighed at the thought of warming his freezing toes…

And then a lone dwarf all but appeared by Thorin's side, light gleaming off his golden hair.

Oh, no!

"Uncle, it's good to see you!" The blond began to unpack Thorin's bags without being told, eager to help and smiling all the time. "I left the fire burning, thought you would like to warm up a bit. The day was dreadfully cold and it will get even worse. It may rain tonight. There's a dinner by the fire if you're hungry, some bread and cheese."

Thorin got off the horse and Bilbo could've sworn that he saw the stiffnecked dwarf rolling his eyes at the youngster before embracing him warmly. They've lightly knocked their foreheads, as per dwarvish custom, and went to the fire, leaving the hobbit to follow. Again.

His own descent from the pony was entirely ungraceful and would be embarrassing if Bilbo had energy to care for it. He was tired and annoyed instead, because Thorin made it look so easy! And his back ached something fierce, not to mention his sore backside. And his poor feet… it was a very unhappy hobbit that joined the dwarves by the bonfire and took stock of the camp.

It was not much, but the fire was nice and there was enough dry leaves lying about to make a relatively comfortable bedding for one small halfling. Blond dwarf was off to the side with his uncle, who was securing the black pony to the tree, next to another horse – young dapple that belonged to Kili.

But dwarf with Bilbo's ring attached to his person was absent. And a second careful look-around didn't challenge that notion.

The hobbit was about to ask about him when he was suddenly cornered between Myrtle and an overgrown juniper by none other than...

"Fili," the blond introduced himself, bowing at the waist. "At your service. We didn't have a chance to get properly acquainted yet, so I guess now is as good time as any."

Bilbo backed up from the offered hand almost walking into his horse. There was no escape, as even when he tried to hide behind the bag from lady Orsa the smile on Fili's face stayed stubbornly bright, so he gave up quite quickly.

"Bilbo Baggins." He allowed his cold hand to be shaken… vigorously. "I am sorry… about yesterday."

It seemed only proper to apologise – he's had a fair chance and lost the race. Borrower's honour demanded that he at least admits it.

"Don't worry, master Baggins, all ended well," Fili waved the apology away with another smile and, using his hold on Bilbo's hand, pulled-pushed him towards the bonfire. In the passing he intercepted Myrtle's rains and went about securing her next to the dapple and black.

Bilbo, completely flabbergasted, stumbled a little with heavy bag in his hands, head swimming form the sudden change in atmosphere. Sitting down on a conveniently placed log he looked discretely between Thorin Oakenshield (busy with unrolling his bedding, expression serious and focused) and his nephew (smiling and talkative) and had a hard time believing that they were related.

Huh, the wonders of nature never ceased to amaze.

"Is the perimeter safe, Fili?"

"Yes, Uncle, I checked it before building the fire, it's safe."

Bilbo listened to the quiet conversation with one ear, hands occupied with making his own bed out of dry leaves and a blanket. He could hug the dwarrow woman who packed his bag. She even packed him bread and apples! He loved apples, oh heavens he did, and it was a while since he's had any. There was also another pair of trousers and one more blanket. And, unsurprisingly, a pair of thick woollen socks that the hobbit suspected will come in handy when it finally starts snowing.

"And where is… he?"

"Dulgi set out for a hunt; he should be back any moment now."

At that Bilbo's head perked up and he almost choked on a piece of apple that got stuck in his throat.

What? The beast?

"Is that necessary?" Thorin's voice carried a note of displeased resignation.

"He has to eat, Uncle," was said in a tone of a gentle reminder.

Well, that's good, Bilbo thought, if the monster runs itself out and gorges on some wildlife there's a chance it will leave him alone.

As if on cue, the bushes to the right rustled and a black shape darted into the clearing – eyes blazing red in the firelight and a wild bunny hanging limply from its massive jaws. Hobbit squeaked when the massive body vaulted over his curled form and over the bonfire in one jump, in order to… present his kill to Thorin Oakenshield and…. start nuzzling his face… with a nose covered in blood…

What he expected to end with an angry dwarf and a wolf with one sore ear turned into affectionate pats on the head and ear-scratches without a trace of distaste for the blood smeared muzzle. In fact, Thorin used his own sleeve to wipe off the blood and held beast's head sill to inspect the damage.

"A bunny?" Bilbo almost choked for a second time when he's heard a chuckle coming out of all-serious Thorin. "Really?"

The beast huffed and whined like a puppy, effectively freeing its head and turning away to jump at the blond dwarf instead. After few minutes of nuzzling and rampaging and genuine laughter from Fili it decided to let him deal with the rabbit and its bright blue eyes turned to the mortified hobbit.

And it didn't stop at the eyes. The rest of the body followed suit and one jump later it was almost hovering over the small creature that tried to blend into the log it was covering against. This time there was no anger in the blue gaze, it was amused more than anything, but it didn't mean that Bilbo liked it any more. Most predators were amused at the prospect of easy prey.

"Do stop shivering, mister Baggins," Fili called to him from his end of the camp. "Dulgi won't eat you!"

Yeah, last time he's said the same thing.

"I have reasons to doubt," Bilbo couldn't stop himself from saying. He was rather focused on keeping his bag between him and the nosy wolf that tried to bypass it in order to sniff at his hair.

Fili had to hear it, because he looked up from his task and had the gall to laugh at the picture they made.

"That was only because you called him a 'dog'" he explained, wiping his bloody hands on the patch of stiff grass. "Dulgi takes this kind of things very personally."

"What? " Bilbo barely evaded rather bold swipe of the monster's tongue. "How do you even…"

"Enough!"

The command from Thorin silenced them all; it even stilled the wolf in its attempts to chew through the bag to get to the hobbit. The hobbit himself took one deep breath, because the command was… he's never heard a voice like that. It wasn't aggressive or especially loud – it was just impossible not to listen to.

Then the dwarf looked at them seriously and his blue stare made them both shrink back.

"Go to sleep, both of you," he commanded quietly. "We will move on with the first light, better be rested by then."

Bilbo didn't even know when it happened, but he found himself hidden safely under his blanket.

The beast went around the fire to nuzzle his master's face (he had to be the master, right? It listened to him without protest). Thorin rubbed its head tenderly before settling into his own bedroll. One more sniff and the wolf went to lay by Fili, ears up and eyes scanning the woods outside of the fire's light.

Like this, it looked more like a guard dog than a wild beast…

And it seemed to read minds because the moment Bilbo thought that it looked straight at him.

He fell asleep by sheer force of will.

Completely forgetting to ask about the youngest dwarf's absence.

.

.

* * *

.

.

The wakeup call was rather unpleasant, – if it could be even called that.

It was a wet nose sniffing around his ear and quick panting breaths hitting his cheek with moist air, making it all clammy and sticky.

Bilbo woke up with a groan, hands going up to push away the beast that decided to snack on him when he wasn't looking. He didn't even care if the wolf decided to be offended, because, heavens, this was a little much even for someone as amiable as a hobbit!

His fingers found the offending muzzle and pushed at it roughly – only to be harshly nipped on!

"Ouch!" he sat up pulling the hand back, a curse ready at the tip of his tongue… and then he froze.

He was not looking at the black wolf, oh no, Bilbo Baggins was sitting in the nest of leaves and blankets and staring up the long legs of a young hart.

At this point his mind decided to leave the stage.

The animal looked down on the hobbit from rather considerable height of almost six feet and if it was human the expression on his face could be taken for amusement.

It was big. And beautiful: with strong legs and graceful neck; its slender head was adorned with an impressive set of antlers. Bilbo has seen many deer in his life, but this one was something of a wonder as its coat wasn't red or brown, but a pale shade of amber, almost golden in places. In the bright winter morning the stag almost seemed to glow!

And it was helping itself to his apples.

"Oh no, no, no! Go away!" Bilbo jumped to his feet and waved his hands, trying to chase the horned thief away from his guttered bag. Without much success, it had to be said. "Leave it alone! Go and eat some grass or whatever, go!"

The hart glanced once at the flailing creature and continued munching on the stolen fruit. When the hobbit tried to pull the bag away it huffed in warning and pushed him with its head strongly enough that he tripped over the log and fell backwards with a yelp.

"Pharaz no, we need him!"

A pair of strong hands grabbed Bilbo by the shoulders and helped him up. They belonged to the young black haired dwarf who looked only too amused with the situation.

"There you go, mister burglar!" Kili chuckled, patting him down to clear away dirt and leaves. "Nothing broken and noting bruised, I hope. There's a hobbit! Now pack up, we're about to leave!"

"I would love to!" Bilbo snapped, pulling out of the reach of both dwarf and a hart, he could pat himself just fine thank you! "If that beast didn't steal my bag!"

It was not a good morning at all!

"Beast?" Kili's eyebrows went up and he strode over the log to the unfortunate bag. The stag stepped out of his way easily. "Heard that, Pharaz? That's not very nice, is it? You only wanted to share his apples and... apples? Why do you have apples? Why didn't I get any apples from Ma Orsa?"

He seemed genuinely upset by that. The stag looked very much as if it wished to shrug. After a moment of listening to Kili's complaining a the sheer injustice of life it sniffed at his hair and slowly walked away to disappear between the trees.

Bilbo, for all intents and purposes was too flabbergasted to even ask Kili about his own disappearing act before Thorin's commanding voice ordered them to pack now.

He didn't think to ask about Fili well until noon, but by then his two companions were back to ignoring his questions.

.

.

.

.


	5. Chapter 5

That pattern repeated for the next six days. During the day they rode without stopping, cautious and at a good pace; Kili kept disappearing every so often and Bilbo slowly got used to it – or rather tried not to get overly nervous when the bearer of is ring stayed out of sight too long. Strangely, day by day it was easier and he didn't know how to feel with it.

Bilbo was supposed to guard the ring with his life, to keep it from greedy hands that would like to steal it and use it for their own purposes. He was the last of his family and the sole bearer of that responsibility.

And how well did that go? - he often thought to himself, glad that none of his ancestors were there to witness his failure.

You've simply let it go, Bilbo Baggins, just because you saw sharp teeth and stopped paying attention. As if the ring was some trinket that could be carried with no care and dropped when fancy struck him! His mother would be so disappointed!

Looking at the young dwarf riding in front of him Bilbo felt even worse – Kili was far stronger than him, he was a warrior, and even though the youth knew of the ring's power, he didn't seem at all inclined to use it. He carried it around his neck (Bilbo has spotted a peek of a silver chain a few times when the dwarf adjusted his cloak or bent down to pick up his saddle bags) like a task – and nothing more.

All in all, the dwarf looked like a more trustworthy material for a ring-bearer at the moment.

Even if he kept disappearing out of sight with no explanation.

But soon enough Bilbo bagen to understand.

The hart was the key, it seemed.

Young golden stag was also something of a constant these last couple days. Not once Bilbo woke up in the morning to see the majestic animal walking slowly through their camp, completely unafraid. Sometimes it stood beside Thorin, allowing him to pat its long neck and when he spoke to it quietly it almost appeared to understand him. But that was just silly, right? It was just a beast.

Right?

Bilbo didn't trust his knowledge of the world anymore, not since he was drafted into this whole Contract business – no, even earlier, since those wicked fangs flashed in front of his face and a black wolf saw trough the ring's magic. The hart, which Kili has called Pharaz, acted like a bigger and more dignified version of Dulgi. It followed the dwarves around and nudged them with its nose often, patiently endured their shows of affection nipping on their hair and clothes lightly.

It followed them on the Tract. Few times already Bilbo could see a shadow passing behind the thicket, or a peek of an antler here and there. He could hear the sound of a hoof stepping lightly on a hard root or a stone; rustle of small branches yielding against the passing body.

It all made sense.

If the hart was their pet or an animal to call, of course that it would follow them; but a deer just walking along the tract was an uncommon sight. It was also dangerous for the animal to be seen – especially one so beautiful; he would make for a terrific trophy indeed. Its skin alone would catch a good price! Not to mention meat and antlers…

And it made sense for the dwarves to make sure that their four legged companion is still following – hence Kili's disappearances and the absence of Fili.

The blond dwarf was not travelling with them to Bilbo's honest disappointment. He had to be appointed as a guardian of the hart and the wolf for he disappeared every morning before sun came up. Bilbo tried to ask about him few times, but every time he did Kili rolled his eyes and assured him that his brother (brothers, huh, so completely different from one another) goes ahead to scout for a place to camp at night and why are you curious anyway, Mister Baggins?

He was curious, because as of now, Fili was the one in the group that treated him with some resemblance of courtesy. He was simply friendly, always smiling and chatting, treating Bilbo like a fellow traveller not a baggage. His dark haired brother was sometimes like that, usually at midday, yet towards the evening his moods took on a darker note and his words were turning snappy and biting.

The difference between the brothers was striking. One was bright and cheerful, the other dark and sullen. If not for the style of braids braids and startlingly blue eyes they both shared Bilbo wouldn't think them to be related at all! Character-wise the only thing they seemed to have in common was the unquestioned affection for their uncle and good hand with animals.

Bilbo thought himself to be a fairly good judge of character and to his eyes both lads were quite close, but didn't allow it to get in the way of their duties. Being separated most of the day and night caused hem obvious distress, and a few times already Bilbo saw one or the other picking up a stick that they later craved some intricate runes into, that was later given to their uncle who would pass it over to another. It was a novel mode of communication and the hobbit guessed that it was only possible because dwarfish runes were made of straight lines and sharp angles.

One time Fili asked him to pass the "message" to Kili in the morning and Bilbo had a rare opportunity to see the careful way with which the stick was handled by the dark haired youngster. Whatever the runes said has brought a tender smile on the dwarf's face. He even thanked Bilbo with a little bow!

It was good to know that his captors were at least borderline polite. And the evenings were nice. With the fire and a blanket; with a friendly face of the blond smiling at him; it felt nice – not being alone.

Bilbo did his best to stop thinking about it like that, to cut himself off from the group as much as it was possible – after all these were not his friends. They made him follow, without a question, as a form of punishment for stealing that map. The map he gave back already! They weren't even kind to him, not like Lady Orsa has been, just… just civil.

They rarely talked to him as it was!

But they were there.

He was alone for so long now… but still remembered how it was when he was not. When he still had his mother with him and the people they've travelled with weren't always friendly, weren't always kind – and yet still they preferred their company to wandering alone through cities of Men and Elves, trough forests full of bandits and wild animals. Alone with their mission and their burden; alone with the unending flight his family was destined for.

Numbers meant that there was always someone to light a fire and stand guard. Numbers meant safety in the world that was entirely too big for a pair of lonely hobbits. Even if said numbers didn't care for their mission, or their welfare, there was always a chance of a kind hand that shared food or fire.

When his mother passed away, Bilbo drifted away from the numbers almost without thinking. She was the one with the silver-tongue, she could talk Men and Dwarves into helping her and her small child, rarely ever she had to steal and lie. He wasn't good with words and his small statue didn't seem to inspire protectiveness the way hers did, most of the time all he could count on was a shadow of reluctant pity.

So he decided to wander on his own and for a while it was alright, it didn't bother him that much…

And now there were numbers again, even if small and strange, and he felt a little bit safer against himself. It wasn't companionship Bilbo wished for since he was little, but it was fire and food, warm clothes covering his back and someone close that probably wouldn't let him die before the Contract is fulfilled.

Was it really that much worse than his life just a month ago? When he drifted aimlessly from town to town, always cold and on the verge of starvation? He's made a stupid mistake that has cost him his freedom for three months – and really, it could've ended much worse.

Imagine his captors to be Men or, heavens forbid, Orcs!

Bilbo shivered from that thought alone. Yes, it could be much worse.

These dwarves, for all their brashness and bluntness, didn't treat him badly. They made sure he didn't get lost in the forest and shared their food and water with him. Even if Kili complained about the lack of apples in his own bags he never helped himself to one of Bilbo's – which would make perfect sense in the mind of a hobbit thief.

_Aren't we just precious,_ a voice in his mind whispered sometimes, _to forgive them all transgressions for a bit of food and water? Where's your respectability, young hobbit?_

It sounded distressingly familiar – just like aunt Lobelia, havens bless her soul. Bilbo never liked her too much and so he always answered with a slight sneer:

_I left it back with stomach cramps and dizzy spells._

For it was hard to be a respectable hobbit with an empty tummy and frozen fingers.

.

.

* * *

.

.

"Here, let me help you, Mister Thief."

Long arms reached over his head and Bilbo obediently ducked out of the way as Fili hefted his bag from Myrtle's back and carried it to the small camp set up under the low hanging branches of an enormous spruce. Bilbo thanked him with a nod and busied himself with securing his brown pony next to dapple Minty and great black Balrog. They were all sturdy creatures, with thick furry coats that could protect them from the cold.

Myrtle nosed his shoulder affectionately and already Bilbo couldn't imagine the moment he will be forced to give her back. He never had a pony all to himself and even if riding one still made his back stiff and legs wobbly, he wanted to keep her. Maybe, at the end of the journey, after he completes his task there will be a chance to… borrow her permanently from the dwarves?

It was a nice thought, to finally have some pleasant company on the road.

And speaking of company…

Fili beckoned him to the small fire he's got going and Bilbo followed as fast as his stiff legs could carry him.

Last night it's finally started snowing and the skies didn't deem it necessary to stop just yet. Almost five inches of white cold covered the earth and the air was full of tiny little snowflakes that mischievous wind blew into travellers' eyes and noses. Bilbo was swathed in his coat and a spare blanket, long knitted scarf wound around his head and neck.

He was fairly warm like that and scarcely dared to think what would become of him if he didn't stumble on that lonely inn all these days ago; if he pressed on his way to Rivendell, on foot and without supplies. He would probably freeze to death in one ditch or another by now.

"Come over, tiny thief!" Fili called to him as Bilbo stepped into relatively snow-free space under the low hanging branches. The air in the shelter smelled of resin and meat that was already roasting on a stick over the low fire. "Warm yourself and eat with me."

Bilbo smiled again and settled on his bag, careful to keep his feet closer to the warmth, but far enough that the flames wouldn't touch him. He looked around the small camp, eyebrows narrowing when he couldn't find either Thorin or the black wolf. He looked questioningly to Fili, who shook his head and handed him a metal mug filled with warm water sweetened with a spoonful of honey.

The lad was usually responsible for their dinners and it seemed that he took his duty very seriously, making sure that his uncle and the hobbit had enough meat to eat and something warm to drink available. Bilbo tried not to think about the fact that most of the meat he's eaten in the last week came from the jaws of a big black beast. Dulgi was a terrifyingly good hunter.

"Uncle went for a walk," Fili revealed to the hobbit. "He needed to stretch his legs a little and Dulgi went with him. He's had a boring day after all."

Bilbo nodded and hummed quietly when the warmth started to spread over his body from the fire and the drink in his hands.

"Winter is finally here," Fili continued his usual chatter. "I love it, don't you, tiny thief?"

"It's cold," complained Bilbo. It was a second day in this crazy adventure when he decided to stop fighting the silly nickname. Fili was friendly, but mischievous and evidently in love with the phrase. "And too wet."

"But it's so quiet," dwarf's eyes took on a slightly dreamy look. "Where we grew up… me and Kili, it used to snow every winter, not like here on the plains. One time I remember trudging through the snow up to my shoulders!"

Bilbo listened keenly, fascinated with the information. He never travelled up North further than to Weather Hills.

"Where did you grew up?" he dared to ask.

"Far from here…" Then Fili's eyes sharpened and his open expression slammed shut. It took just a second, but Bilbo was a good thief with good eyes – sunny smile brought on right after didn't fool him in the least, there was a story in there. "What about you, tiny thief? Where do you hail from?'

Confronted with a pair of curious blue eyes Bilbo swallowed thickly and shrugged.

"Here and there… wherever the wind decides to carry me, I guess." It was his turn now to force a smile on his face. "There's not much job offers for a seasoned thief going around, you know?."

The dwarf chuckled and patted his arm. "Then I am glad that you decided to join us!"

Bilbo didn't correct the notion – well, not verbally at least. But something had to show on his face, because Fili looked at him sharply and groaned, "Oh no, they didn't…", while hiding his face in both hands. "Those two…"

Bilbo kept quiet, unsure what to say, how to answer, before Fili looked at him with an intense, searching look.

"They've made you sign the Contract, didn't they?" His voice was sharp and disappointed, his expression crestfallen.

.

.

* * *

.

.

_"He is not good for this journey," Thorin stated as soon as the wizard decided to stall with his answers. "Too small, too weak. He will run at the first chance he'll get and I can't be burdened with chasing after him."_

_"Regardless," Gandalf decided to remark. "You won't find a better pick."_

_"I can find someone in Rivendell," Thorin was stubborn. "And pay them enough to keep them with us."_

_"And they still won't be good enough," came the easy answer. "Will you bet your nephews' lives on that?"_

_It was a surprising turn of events, as far as the dwarf was concerned. As long as he knew Gandalf the Grey he was always led to believe that the Man would rather keep such small defenceless creatures as the thief safe. And yet, just now, when even Thorin himself was moved to pity for the Halfling, the wizard was implacable._

_"Why are you so persistent?" He asked bluntly. "You know the danger that follows in our wake. If he's so rare and unusual, it would make more sense for you to keep him as far away from me as possible."_

_Some years ago maybe even Thorin himself would be willing to let the chance go and keep that unlucky thief safe from the misfortune that followed the last of Durin's blood. But that time has passed last winter; now he's had barely enough patience to demand justification._

_Gandalf didn't answer right away; he was looking at the small golden ring hanging on the plain copper chain in front of his face. It was a simple affair, nothing special and yet... in some way it was special enough to interest a wizard and make the hobbit risk his life for it._

_"I knew that you need one more person on you journey, Thorin Oakenshield," the old Man said slowly. "From the moment I saw you I knew it. And now, that I have seen him, I know that this person is Bilbo Baggins."_

_It was hard to argue with wizards' logic, Thorin had to admit, for they were notorious for not explaining their decisions. One had to simply trust that the advice he's got from them was good enough and do their best to follow it trough. Gandalf never steered them wrong, but Thorin had a hard time trusting anyone outside of his own blood. "Why?"_

_Gandalf sniffed at that and turned his head to the side, like a disinterested cat trapped in a human body._

_"Because you need him now to complete you mission. And he may need you as well sooner or later."_

_"What for?"_

_At this question the Man lowered his eyes and sighed sadly; his thin, tall figure seemed to shrink._

_"I won't tell you much, Thorin, for hobbits are secretive beings and Tooks even more so… The Unearthing of Shire, did you hear of it?"_

.

.

* * *

.

.

Bilbo's mouth felt numb. His tongue stuck to his teeth and as much as he wanted he could not answer the question.

Never one to lie (often) he nodded, though, just a tiny little bit. It was enough for Fili to close his eyes as if he was suddenly in pain and mutter something that was presumably a long, complicated swearword in dwarfish. When he finally looked back at the hobbit his blond eyebrows were pulled tight in displeasure and for once his mouth was bereft of smile.

"I hoped…" He stopped to lick his lips and started anew. "I hoped that they would be more like civilised folk. Make a deal or something, to pay you back when all is said and done. Of course, after this is all over, Uncle will probably give you as much gold as you can carry," Fili nodded sagely at that, as if his own honour was on the line. "I will make sure you will be rewarded, I promise."

Bilbo, in the meanwhile, was experiencing a strange kind of mental whiplash. Gold? What?

What was this about now?

"I just thought that they would treat you better." The hobbit didn't even flinch when one big hand rested on his thin forearm and squeezed it gently. "But you see, my uncle is a… harsh dwarf, when he has little choice left. And my brother tries to be like him too much sometimes… And, what I'm trying to say is…"

"Wait!" Bilbo cut in before the blond got the chance to stammer some sort of apology. Yes, he was sure it was all going to end in an apology that he didn't yet want to even consider. At the moment he was too confused and stunned by the sudden revelation of possible gold and reward and, well, decent treatment. (He was pretty sure that sans the uncomfortable situation with the sword he was treated with decency, though. He wasn't relieved of any limbs and could still walk after all, they fed him too. Courtesy was scarce, yes, but as far as decency went...). "What is going on here?"

"You mean?" Fili's eyebrows rose slightly at the question.

"I mean that I want to know what's going on." And was there any simpler way of saying that? "From the moment I woke up I've been chased, scared, threatened and made to sign up for some crazy journey… while no one bothered to explain anything yet!"

It was a struggle to keep his voice level at the last words, but Bilbo was a small, unassuming creature and being loud and demanding was much beyond him so his rant ended up in a rather undignified whine. Fili's main reaction to it was a long-suffering groan.

"Threatened? Was it Kili? It was, wasn't it? That dimwit…!"

"He told me he'd deal with me!" Bilbo mumbled, shivering under his blanket.

"Oh," Fili almost choked. "Oh, Mahal, oh that…"

And now he was laughing. Which was doubly distressing for the hobbit that was about to just drop the conversation altogether, as it was getting him even more confused instead of the other way around.

"What is funny in that?" He asked, cross.

"They would pay you off, so you wouldn't mention it to anyone, Mister Baggins!"

Pay him off?

Heavens!

"But your uncle threatened to cut off my arm!"

"Well, you did steal from us," Fili said with a shrug.

Fair enough. Lad's got a point. It sounded barbaric, but was not unheard of in the cities of Men.

"But where are we going?" Bilbo heard the whining note in his voice again and fought the desire to hide his face in both hands and weep… or laugh. Or both. "And what is the job I signed up for?"

He might have given in to the urge and it was a couple of blessedly quiet and non-confusing minutes before he was composed enough to raise his head and look at the dwarf by his side. Fili was gazing at him with surprising solemnity on his young and handsome face; he was biting his lips as if he couldn't decide if he should say something or not. After a moment of careful consideration he sighed and leaned in a little closer to the hobbit, lowering his voice to say, "We are journeying East, Mister Baggins, and for now that's all I can tell you."

"Oh, for heaven's sake…!"

"No, no, please." And the big hand was again grasping Bilbo's arm. "It's not that I want to keep you in the dark, it's just that… There are people after us," the dwarf explained quietly. "People who wish us ill. They search for the same thing we do, with the difference being that we know where it is. If they ever got a hold of it… it would be a disaster." The grave tone of his usually cheerful voice combined with the sudden knowledge of a very real danger made Bilbo shudder. "

"You are afraid that I could…" Bilbo gulped.

The hand holding his arm rubbed it lightly in a small attempt at comforting, but the expression of the dwarf's face was not apologetic in the slightest. It was calm and understanding, and it was in some way worse.

"We don't know you well enough and you don't have a reason to even like us. For all involved it would be better if you knew as little as possible for the time being. If you ever got captured…"

"Captured?"

"Our enemies are crafty and have ways of… extracting information from the most unwilling sources. The less you know, the safer you are. But do not worry about it too much, tiny thief; we will protect you from any harm if the need arises. It's just that we would rather be careful beforehand so it doesn't get a chance to."

Warm hand finally left and Bilbo, hardly reassured, felt the lack of the heat acutely. He could only sit in front of the fire and try not to shiver when the new knowledge settled into is stomach.

This… was getting… complicated. Yes, that was the word for it, complicated.

Not scary or dangerous or terrifying. Just – tangled.

Not unlike the rest of his life was until this point, right? He was used to people wanting to harm him. At least now he's had some kind of protection in the form of three dwarfish warriors and one terrifying black beast.

… same dwarves that had the danger following them in the first place.

"Who is your enemy?" He's found some courage to ask.

"That, Mister Baggins, is a long story. Too long to tell it in one sitting. " Fili didn't look at him, but from his place Bilbo could see a good half of his face clearly and the expression on it wasn't reassuring. He lost a good portion of his youthful vigor and had sadness claim its place. Fear and regret and longing that were together for so long they've merged into one haunted look that the hobbit-thief recognised all too well. "You will hear it, at some point you will have to, but it's not my decision to make."

And then, as if he was waiting for some hidden signal, Thorin Oakenshield stepped out of the darkness and settled himself on the other side of the fire almost giving Bilbo a heart attack. A cold nose poking at the back of his head didn't help to calm him down in the slightest!

"You beast…!" The hobbit shrieked, jumping off his bag and trying, unsuccessfully, to smack the wolf on that curious nose of his. "I will… I will… I will tie your ears together, you just wait! And shave your tail clean so you will not be able to sit in the snow until springtime!"

Dulgi, slightly surprised at the sudden show of temper, danced away from tiny palms that attempted to grab his muzzle snorting slightly with amusement. But when the part about shaving came, he froze minutely and sat down on his hunches so fast that his teeth rattled. Blue eyes narrowed suspiciously at the angry hobbit just to shift into betrayal when the blond dwarf next to him burst out laughing. It stung only a little bit less when a sharp word from Thorin ordered them all to settle down and rest for Mahal's sake!

.

.

* * *

.

.

That Bilbo woke up in the middle of the night didn't surprise him in the slightest. After an enlightening talk with the blond dwarf his mind decided that peaceful sleep is overpraised and focused entirely on reminding the thief of all the dangers awaiting him on this adventure. The real ones and the imagined fought for his attention until the thinking part of Bilbo, the Baggins part of his brain, decided that enough is enough and woke him up. No, it wasn't surprising in the slightest.

What was rather unexpected was a solid, breathing wall of heat glued to his side.

Still drowsy and not all-there-yet, Bilbo cautiously opened one eye to gauge the situation.

(And where is your hard-learned ability to sleep like a mouse? – asked a voice that sounded similar to Great Uncle Isengrim's. To stay wary even as you rest?)

What he saw was black fur of the wolf that sometime during the night has decided to settle along his side. Sheer size of the beast allowed it to practically coil around his little, curled up figure with little difficulty and Bilbo was too confused to wonder about it.

He could also see that on the other side of the wolf Fili was still awake, sitting close to the dying fire and whispering something to Dulgi in that harsh language of the dwarves. His hands were busy with a stick about a foot long that was already half-covered with runes. There was a little pile of similar ones stacked by the dwarf's feet and Bilbo's sleepy mind managed to form a half-thought that this time it was a very long letter indeed…

He didn't see Thorin, but then again, there was not enough sense in him to figure out how to turn his head around or open his other eye. Not that he would do it, because he was fairly comfortable and warm like that. Even if all he could smell was wet dog's hair mixed with burning pine…

For some reason, his addled brain declared the smell comforting enough.

.

.

.

.


	6. Chapter 6

"_You're a dimwit_." Says the stick.

Kili weights it in his hand, only half-focused on keeping Minty on the right track. They've left the Tract yesterday and now were heading North-West to avoid Rivendell all together. The woods are thick around them and with a thick layer of snow covering the ground it's a tricky place to navigate. Good thing that Minty is a smart creature with wide hoofs and sure steps; she knows her rider and easily responds to the slightest movements of his thighs. Kili is grateful for the trusty beast.

He is also grateful for the tracks in the now that lead their little company around the thickets and overturned trees, on the safe, even terrain. This time Pharaz is doing the scouting for them – his senses being so much better during the day than the Dwarf's. There's little left to do, but to follow his trail and so Kili's attention strays to the messages he's received this morning.

There are a lot of them, actually.

"_Fool._" Says the stick. "_Conscience won't kill you_."

When he woke up in the morning, there was a pile of sticks stacked neatly next to the fire, by his pack. All of them covered in hastily carved runes. Fili's writing was always extremely precise and even; these were letters scrawled in a hurry, prompted by a strong emotion were a very definitive mark of the blond's emotional state.

The hobbit had to blubber it out, then. Bother.

"_I am ashamed of you_."

Uncle Thorin didn't comment on them when they were cleaning up the campsite. He didn't seem to be amused, though. Well, it would be because of the time of the month, or…

Or that he agreed with Fili.

The thief was acting no different from yesterday. He was just slightly paler and nervous, but that could be blamed on the winter's cold and the lack of solid pathway underneath their ponies.

"_Be nicer!"_ Says the stick.

Nicer?

Kili scoffs at the piece of wood before creaking it into small pieces and throwing it away, sire that the runes are beyond recognition. The hobbit-creature stole from them! It almost ruined all their plans singlehandedly! Without the map they would be back to square one, bereft of the hope of ever ending this nightmare! That small, thieving…

"_Don't sulk_." Says the stick.

He is not sulking!

"_I know you. Stop sulking_."

He was not! And what would his brother even know about it? The last time they've seen each other…

"_He is good. Be nice."_ Says the stick.

Good? Oh Fili, so trusting, his brother, so kind.

One of them couldn't afford it, couldn't let their guard down. One of them had to keep their eyes peeled for any danger or betrayal, that's what old Balin said to him before last winter. And while Kili was aware that his age worked against him, as he was the youngest in the family, he couldn't leave their safety solely in the hands of their Uncle. Thorin was their only support for the longest time, their protector and the pillar of strength they've been both leaning on for years now. And it took toll on him that Kili was finally old enough to see. Older Dwarf was as strong as ever, but his moods were darker and his wit sharper, and his nephews were constantly plagued by guilt whenever they've seen his blue eyes clouded with despair. Time was running out, it seemed, and they couldn't hang on to Thorin's sleeves anymore like they did when they were little.

One of them had to pick up the slack and, as he was the one blessed with Days, Kili decided it would be him.

Not that his brother was less capable or less bound to do so, but Fili… he always seemed so kind. And their Nights required a very different approach that only a kind soul could provide.

"_Don't be miserable._" Says the stick. "_Be nice."_

He wasn't miserable!

Another piece of wood surfed through the air to be buried under the ever growing layer of snow.

He was angry and impatient, and both of those states he was trying to keep in check. Mahal knows how well it went whenever he allowed the anger to come out and acted like an immature youngling. It was enough that he still remembered his Uncle's disappointed and slightly pained look – never mind the wounds on his arms. He wasn't an adult yet, by their culture's standards, he was still a few years short of the mark, but he's learned to act like one. To mock maturity whenever it was necessary.

He was civil to the thief, wasn't that enough?

"Whatever would you have me do, brother?" He and whispers into the cold air and looks up, catching the scraps and pieces of the clear sky visible through the cracks in the forest's canopy. "You've always had all the answers. I miss you so much."

"_I love you."_ Says the last stick. "_I miss you."_

Kili breaks it into pieces no bigger than a toothpick and scatters them to the wind.

Just like every morning for the last twenty years.

.

.

* * *

.

.

"_He is not good for this journey,_" Thorin has said.

And he was right; the creature was too small and too scared. It wasn't trustworthy in the slightest.

But the wizard argued back and Thorin could not, in good graces, argue against him. Thanks to the old Man they were already further on their road to freedom than they could've ever managed on their own. He's helped them to find the key and deciphered the map, and for those two things alone Thorin could build him a shrine out of gold. With that kind of track record it was safe to assume that the next advice will prove to be worth the trouble. It's just that…

The thief was so small. He looked like a child and it took some careful observation to see that he was more than that. To see the wrinkles marking his youthful face, the way his hands betrayed years upon years of harsh conditions, the way his body was locked in a sequence of protective reflexes breed by constant repetition. This was no youngster, Thorin knew it with his mind, but his heart was slower to accept it. To agree on dragging this little thing into their problems, into danger that they were bound to face sooner or later.

But then Gandalf spoke to him of the Scouring...

Unearthing of the Shire, the Western world called it; a bloody even that had place when Thorin's father was just a young Dwarf himself. It was a thing that songs were made about, all of the sad ballads and gritty stories touched upon it in one form or another. As they should, because there has been no event in history that took place in this part of the world which would awake such outrage as the desolation brought on that green, peaceful land. And by Orcs at that!

Thorin shut his mouth when the aged wizard reminded him that few other creatures upon this earth knew misery better than the Hobbits. That this little folk were travelling Middle Earth in search of home for longer than Thorin has been alive. That, if push came to shove, a smart hobbit knew how to take care of himself.

Still, this one didn't seem overly smart as he's managed to get himself caught by Thorin's nephews.

_"Being a Took is a tricky business," was Gandalf's answer to that statement. "Especially a half-blood one and a ring bearer at that. This little thing," here the wizard lifted the ring so the light from the fireplace reflected of its surface. "You can use it as a bargaining chip. But carefully, it is as important to him as the key is to you. Do try to be more subtle than… usual." _

_"What is it?" Thorin asked, instantly wary of the trinket. Dwarves were all too aware of the power that could be locked into the most unassuming of objects. Members of Durin's line especially. _

_And wasn't that a bitter thought? _

_Wizard's voice seemed deeper all of a sudden and his good natured expression turned grave as he answered, "This can be a treasure worth kingdoms… or a horrible poison, if handled by those of weak spirit. Keep it safe, Thorin Oakenshield, and if possible, away from Mister Baggins for as long as it's possible." _

_"You speak in riddles, wizard." Thorin was slow to raise his hand and let the ring rest in his cupped palm. The gold was strange on his skin, cold and unwelcoming, much different from the warm, yielding metal he was used to working with in the past. It was enough to send a shiver down his spine and made him ask unwisely: "What does it __**really**__ do?" _

_"The worst thing possible, my friend, it makes one's wishes come true."_

_And Thorin was too old to believe in fairy tales and too jaded to be fooled by stories of easy resolutions. _

_"At what price?"_

He could still remember the shudder that the answer has ripped from him. He tried not to show it, not wanting to reveal any weakness in front of the wizard who already knew too much about them and their plight. It was ironic in some sense, that after all these years he would come to hold another powerful artefact in his hands – and that this artefact would help them in reclaiming their lives.

Thorin had a moment to think that he will never be free of magic, no matter how much he wishes for it. That wizards and curses will be a constant in his life. And he had a moment to despair over that fact. Wasn't it enough?

Didn't he pay enough? _Hasn't his family paid enough?_

But thinking like that woke something in him that he wanted to keep asleep for now, so he pushed the bitter despair away and steeled his features and his heart, and nodded. He would keep the damn ring and the damn thief, if that's what it will take to break the curse.

_But the wizard was not done yet. "You will do one more thing for me, Thorin," he said. "You will promise me to keep your thief alive at all cost. Bilbo Baggins' presence will decide of the fate of your mission. His alone." _

And how was he going to go about that? When the best he could do for _his own nephews_ was to _try_ to keep them out of the harm's way?

And now not only was his own conscience fighting with him over the halfling, but the night before Fili came to him when they were the only two awake in the camp. The youth was visibly upset with his Uncle and brother, and Thorin suspected that he knew the reason for it. He had a good grace to look repentant when those narrowed blue eyes rested on him. It was hard to be a source of disappointment to the ones he was trying to stay strong for.

_"He is afraid of us," Fili told him, unhappy, but resigned. "How can he ever help us, if he's afraid of us?" _

How indeed? It was a hard, yet vaild thing to consider that the hobbit would not keep his end of the bargain. After all, Contracts were a dwarven thing and no other nation was bound to respect them. Elves certainly didn't…

That thought brought on another bout of anger that Thorin pushed down with practiced skill, stopping the fire that was about to fill his veins at the very mention of past betrayals. This was not the time to lose control, he reminded himself sternly. The time of the month was working against him here, but Thorin was strong and from experience he knew that even when strength failed, stubbornness prevailed.

Still, there was no point in tempting fate; he needed a distraction.

Luckily, said distraction was not far – he was riding in front of Thorin.

The trail they followed was wide enough for two ponies to walk next to each other and neither Balrog nor Myrtle fussed about it; if possible, the animals moved closer than it was necessary in search of warmth and comfort.

The hobbit, though, was not comforted by this new development. He jerked up in the saddle, eyes dashing to the Dwarf and back again. Swathed in a too-big coat, a cloak and a spare blanket, the halfling looked more like an oddly alert pile of rags left atop the walking pony than a proper rider.

Thorin looked briefly down and corrected himself with an amused hum.

An oddly alert pile of rags with hairy feet – that almost jumped when his voice cut through the silence. "Have you ever travelled beyond Rivendell, thief?"

The hobbit looked at him strangely, distrust and wariness clear in his eyes, and puffed his small chest up a little.

"I do have a name, you know?" He said instead of answering. "It's Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, and I would appreciate it if you could remember it."

Thorin was trying hard to keep his lips from twitching at the cautiously admonishing tone.

"I never forgot, Mister Baggins," he replied gravely. "The Shire, though? It's been a long while since…"

"Yes, I know," the halfling cut him off, his back stiff and eyes trained on the pony walking in front. "But my mother's people hailed from there, so it will stay so, if you please."

Strangely polite for a thief, Thorin mused silently, observing his new charge (_because what else could the hobbit be than another problem to look after until the time for his usefulness comes?) _from up close for the first time since they set out. It was such a strange creature, so different from Elves and Dwarves and even occasional Men that happened to live around these parts.

"Have you no other place to call your own, then?" he asked.

And there it was – _right there_ – a minute flash of pain on the wind-reddened face that got buried so quickly that less trained eye could miss it completely.

"All places are mine," the hobbit answered flippantly, cheerful smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Wherever I lay my head and so on. What about you, Master Dwarf? Where do you hail from? Ered Luin? Blue Mountains? That's the closest dwarven settlement I know of."

Thorin had a moment to feel surprised at the sudden change of focus.

"Then you don't know much," he responded gruffly.

"That was certainly uncalled for," the thief scoffed, his small reddened nose up in the air. "Are all dwarves so rude?"

"Are all hobbits so touchy?"

This was quite amusing, Thorin had to admit as the thief grumbled something rude under his breath, probably afraid of being heard and punished for it. Still, there was a question that had to be answered.

"So, _have you_ ever travelled beyond Rivendell, thief?"

Lack of proper courtesy resulted in more grumbling and a half-snapped: "No, never! The city is big enough for one hobbit to winter safely."

Thorin couldn't decide exactly why he persisted in being a boor, but he was sure it wasn't anything malicious. It was just surprisingly easy and… entertaining… to argue with the fussy little creature and he wanted to see if he could annoy the fear out of Mister Baggins in a proper dwarven way.

They rode in silence for a while after that, neither interested in starting new conversation. The hobbit sunk back into his coats, little hands hidden under the overlong sleeves and feet hiked up and pressed to Myrtle's warm sides. Thorin was not really bothered by the cold; he focused instead on listening to the sounds around them. His eyes were wide open, but the glare of the sun against snow impaired his sharp gaze. They had to rely on Pharaz's eyes for a time and strain their ears, because as soft as snow might have looked it was far from silent when one stepped on it with not enough caution.

The woods were quiet, apart from the sounds their little company made and that calmed the Dwarf somewhat. It stopped snowing early in the morning and the sky cleared nicely, the day was admittedly short, but they were not far from their target. First stop on the journey and the last one before crossing the mountains was just one more day's ride towards the North-East and Thorin couldn't wait to get there. A friend would take care of his nephews and his thief, ensure they were safe and feed so Thorin himself will be free to… take care of his own _problem_. He fully intended to take advantage of having warm bedding and hearty food (_for the friend they were visiting was quite enamoured with both_) for there will be little chance of finding both again, not in the mountains and certainly not beyond them.

"Mhm." The sound of a conspicuous cough drew his attention back to Mister Baggins who turned to him slightly. "I've heard that we're crossing the mountains?"

"You've heard well." Thorin answered. "Indeed we are."

"Oh." The sound was tiny and followed by a heavy sigh that had the Dwarf fighting an instinctive smirk once more.

"What of it, thief?" he prodded.

"It's just that… Hobbits are not really…"

The rest of the sentence was cut off abruptly by a sudden hiss from Kili, who pulled on the reins and turned sideways in his saddle, one ear to the West, brows pulled together. Thorin instantly did the same, pulling the rains to stop Balrog in his tracks and raising one hand to stall any questions that the hobbit could ask, demanding complete silence with a gesture.

It took him a moment of straining his ears, but he was finally able to hear the sound his nephew caught first. Horses. Moving fast over the frozen land. Calls and shouting. Dogs.

A hunting party.

"Uncle?" Kili's unsure voice pushed him into movement.

"Go!" he snapped, glad that it didn't take much more for his nephew to turn back and spur his pony into a run. That gave Thorin a second to look at the wide-eyed thief and snap one order he could think of, "Stay behind him!" before bringing his heavy hand on Myrtle's hind with a resounding smack.

The pony shot forward like an arrow, the hobbit on its back yelping and hunching down in the saddle, holding for dear life.

Thorin, following right after, with one eye and both ears on the _yet_ undisturbed landscape behind them, cursed his indolence. He's got too sure of himself! He should know it was still much too early to rest on his oars! Fool!

The sounds of the chase were not lost; he could hear an occasional howl and knew that it won't take long before the dogs catch up to them. Their ponies were sturdy, but tired after days of travel and they won't carry them over to the safehouse in time. The night was nearing.

Thorin gritted his teeth and urged Balrog to gallop faster, keeping an eye on the chestnut mare and her untrained rider. Kili was in the head, burdened with finding a safe passage through the snow and ways before him Thorin could see flashes of golden hide darting from side to side; Pharaz was probably the first one to hear anything. The hart could outrun them with ease pushed by the instinct that told it to escape – he fought it to stay in sights, to lead them, – and Thorin's heart clenched painfully at the thought.

And something in him stirred at this pain, blinking awake much before its time.

.

.

.

.


	7. Chapter 7

Bilbo didn't expect to have fun on this journey, not with the way it has all started, not with the company he was travelling with. But he didn't expect it to turn into this…

He could do with the Dwarf insulting him, he was used to that. He could do with being kept in the dark and treated like a child – after his conversation with Fili night before he was partial to being kept uninformed, really, no hard feelings there.

What he didn't agree to, not in the slightest, was taking part in a crazy chase through the winter forest on the back of a pony that had a mind of her own, on a terrain that was dangerous to begin with and with an angry Dwarf breathing down his neck!

That – was something he really would like to be warned about beforehand!

Cold air slapped into his face, leaving his cheeks and nose red and sore, he could barely hold on to the pony, his legs were too short to properly keep him on her back. And when she jumped… well, he will swear up and down that he didn't squeak in fright! No matter how much he resembled a mouse!

Bother it all! Confounded dwarves and their dogs! What did they've gotten him into?!

Bilbo's heart struggled to keep up with his nerves as the sounds of the chase started to rise above the wind whistling in his ears. Just as he was about to turn and look Balrog, great black beast that he was, moved along Myrtle, his long gait easily levelling him with Minty's shorter step.

Bilbo couldn't hear what Thorin said to Kili, but he saw the younger Dwarf sitting up in the saddle – only to duck a moment later to a void a low hanging branch that almost took his face off. Scraps of a rushed conversation reached the Hobbit, and what he's heard of it didn't sound… good.

"You can't…" begged Kili.

"You will… and get them… safety…"

"But Uncle… alone…"

"No discussion! ...on you!"

Then Thorin pulled at the reins and Balrog slowed down to match his steps with Myrtle. The Dwarf leaned in the saddle and his eyes found Bilbo's – and the sight of a steel-forged resolution found in them made the Hobbit swallow reflexively.

"Stay with Kili!" Thorin ordered. "No matter what, stay with them!"

Another sharp pull on the reins and he was gone – Balrog racing off to the side, disappearing behind a cluster of snow-covered spruce.

Bilbo liked the situation less and less; especially when he saw Kili turning in his saddle and sending a desperate look after his uncle.

.

.

* * *

.

.

Thorin knew he shouldn't do it, he knew that he might have been asking too much leaving Kili on his own like that. But there was no other choice left.

Night was quickly approaching and the pursuit was too close for comfort, they couldn't stop now to take care of the boys. Thorin would fight with everything he's got, but he couldn't take on a whole party – not in this snow, not if they had dogs, not with… not with his head muddled as it was.

There was also the Hobbit to think about. A halfling Thorin has promised to protect from danger.

Kili was old enough, he was skilled and strong, he would take them somewhere safe – and Fili knew this land, he will be able to carry on the task when they switch places. He had to have faith in his boys, they were skilled at hiding and surviving, he's trained them himself!

Even if Thorin's heart argued that he shouldn't leave them the night neared and the beast living under his skin decided to stir early. He couldn't think properly like that and he knew that in a few more hours he will be a danger to be around.

He hoped…

There was a safe place for him they would be able to reach tomorrow. A cave, secluded and big enough; he would be safe there. He hoped…

They were so close! But the chase threw him off and his nerves strained, fear growing; it was becoming harder to keep the aching in his chest under wraps, to keep the beast from emerging.

In the end the only thing he could do to protect his family was to get away from them – and if the hunters decided to follow him, all the better. Already he could hear them close behind, already Balrog was whining in distress.

Good.

Cold air tore into him with icy claws and turned his heavy breaths white making him feel as if he's been breathing in needles, yet his palms were sweaty and when he hunched lower to avoid a precautiously placed branch, Thorin could feel a ball of warmth forming in his chest. He hated this feeling, hated it with all of his soul, but at the moment it was almost… welcome.

He just had to find a suitable place – and wait for the hunters to come.

.

.

* * *

.

.

The forest thickened quickly, snow became deeper and soon there were fewer paths big enough to fit their ponies. They had to slow down and Bilbo could swear that his heart was about to burst from his chest and run ahead. Thorin Oakenshield was stubborn and boorish, but his presence was very much appreciated – especially accompanied by the presences of his heavy sword and axe. Paradoxically, they were pretty comforting, even if slightly terrifying.

And his departure didn't do that much of a difference, because the sounds of the chase didn't disappear for long. They've got closer the longer Myrtle and Minty were forced to muddle through the thickening layer of snow and fight with an uneven terrain.

"They will catch up to us," Bilbo voiced his fear for the first time since he's been told to _hold on_. "They will…"

"They will not!" Kili cut him off without a look and there was some desperate finality to his words. As if he's planned to die before he let that happen – and that was even more distressing.

The Dwarf kept looking to the West and the expression on his face took on an even darker note as some sort of decision has been made in his mind. He nodded slightly and whistled on two fingers, a loud piercing sound that echoed between the trees. Bilbo was about to mention that it certainly won't help them lose the chase, but he shut his mouth when Kili stopped their ponies completely and waited.

Not a minute later Pharaz appeared by his side.

The hart was nervous, its clear eyes were wide and wary as it roughly shouldered Minty and pushed its nose against Kili's side before dancing around to brush sides with Myrtle. The pony was too exhausted to react with anything else than a soft whiny.

Bilbo's attention snapped back to the Dwarf. "There's a storm brewing." Kili was whispering harshly, his breathing uneven as he unclasped a bag from the stack behind his saddle and handed it to the dumbfounded thief. "Hold onto that, Mister Baggins, as if your life depended on it!"

"What… why?" Bilbo had no time to react as he was gripped under the arms and lifted off the saddle and then, with another undignified squeak, dropped down onto something that certainly wasn't Myrtle! "What?!" It was much too high, for one thing!

Kili apparently didn't care for his comfort; he was already busy with securing Myrtle's reins to the horn of his own saddle. "They will follow after my trail," he spoke determinately. "I will lose them in the storm and then come back and find you."

Bilbo could not express how completely idiotic this plan sounded! The storm was still hours away!

"But Thorin said…" he tried to protest, but was cut off again.

"He said to keep you safe! Pharaz will keep you safe! Now go!"

There was no time for any further protests when a mass of muscle underneath the Hobbit seized and dashed forward, swift as an arrow. Bilbo yelped and hunched down around the pack, arms and legs trying to grasp whatever they could keep a hold off. The animal didn't seem to mind the flailing because its steps didn't falter even for a moment.

Bilbo was sure that his whole life flew in front of his eyes when one especially high jump over an upturned tree almost lifted him off the wide back and then brought him back down with a thump that had his eyes water from pain. This was no way for a Hobbit to travel! First ponies, now this!

What in the Valar's name was going on? Where were the Dwarves and who was chasing them? Will they…

He hoped… that they would be alright. He didn't like them, mostly, but it would be bad to lose this company. Strange and rude, but they were his _numbers_, he didn't have to like them, but… but he liked Fili…

Oh, what about Fili? What about the wolf? Will they know what's happened to their companions? Oh no, oh… Fili was kind to Bilbo and if anything happened to him…

But Bilbo had little time to wonder about the blond Dwarf, because the trees blurred and disappeared in front of his eyes and there was a pressing need of finding a way to keep himself on the stag's back as it jumped and dashed from side to side to mislead the chase.

It went on seemingly forever – a quite terrifying eternity for a small Hobbit thief – before the beast finally slowed down. Sun was almost gone from the sky and the sounds of the chase faded to nothing a while ago. It didn't mean, however, that Bilbo was any calmer about being chased through the woods and left only in a company of an animal that was supposed to _keep_ _him_ _safe_. Those dwarves were deluded! Pharaz was a big and beautiful creature, but he couldn't fight!

This whole thing spiralled out of control so fast that Bilbo's head was spinning.

Or it might have been because they've finally stopped and he could breathe and attempt to release the deathgrip his hands had on the silky mane of his steed. He finally managed when the stag stumbled and staggered, waving unsteadily on its long legs. Bilbo scrambled off the wide back and dared a jump that, thankfully, a thick layer of snow somewhat softened. He stepped back, pulling the heavy bag to his chest like a makeshift shield, wary of the way Pharaz kept veering to the sides and shaking his head. He swallowed heavily at the sight of a beautiful beast looking so confused and weakened.

Was Pharaz running for too long?

Did they tire him out too much?

Bilbo has once seen a horse that was run to the ground – the animal simply fell down, foaming at the mouth, and died within moments; its great heart failing.

Could forest creatures die in the same way?

As if to answer his unvoiced question and confirm his darkest fear, Pharaz stumbled for the last time and fell onto the snow. It was a controlled fall, but even so Bilbo thought he could feel the earth shuddering under his feet. The hart was lying on its side in the last rays of the dying sun and Bilbo felt his eyes watering at the sight.

It was such a beautiful creature; and it did what was asked, protecting the Hobbit to the last breath.

He limped towards the fallen beast with his hands extended in a show of good will and harmlessness, with a quiet croon on his lips. It was getting colder and darker, he should be looking after some shelter, but Bilbo just couldn't leave the hart to die alone! That annoyingly aloof creature that stole his apples was now lying on its side; shudders running over its tired body, blue eyes gazing sightlessly to the West.

Bilbo kneeled in the snow and stroked one heaving shoulder. He felt like crying when his touch went unnoticed. When the sun finally disappeared below the horizon the hart gave out one last shivering breath and went still – and the Hobbit closed his eyes in despair.

Now he was all alone again. In a place he didn't know. Without supplies and not knowing if the dwarves will find him. And the one that was supposed to save him was…

"This is very nice, Mister Thief." There was a movement under his hand and an amused voice spoke in the silence. "However, I would rather put on some clothes."

Bilbo's eyes shot open at that and the only thing that stopped a terrified shriek from escaping his lips was a wide, warm hand of an incredibly quick Dwarf. And the only thing that stopped the Hobbit from jumping to his feet and escaping was a sudden lapful of the same, very naked Dwarf.

Obviously, it was too much on top of everything else and so Bilbo did the only thing that he could reasonably attempt in this situation – he fainted.

.

.

* * *

.

.

Thorin was boiling. His skin tried to set itself on fire and even breathing hurt; every breath was like a handful of glass shoved down his throat, into his lungs.

But he had to walk.

He left the horse a while ago, reins secured to a branch. Balrog was a smart beast, it knew what was happening and was used to it. It was safer to leave him like that – they would not kill off an animal of this value, they would take it as spoils and follow his trail…

He left his coat and weapons with the pony, they were just a hindrance and he didn't want them destroyed. Cold air didn't bother him, after all. He's found an adequate place with little trouble – a cluster of blackthorn and brambles, tight and big enough to suit his purposes for the night. The branches were nearly leafless, but a heavy cover of snow created something of a sloping canopy that would hide him from sight.

It wasn't perfect, but it would be good enough for now. Until morning.

Thorin pushed through the wall of thorns headless of the way they snagged at his skin and hair. He stopped only when the walls closed all around him and the heat became unbearable. He got rid of the boots first – they were too heavy and complicated to undo by a mindless beast. When his naked feet touched the snow he sighed with momentary relief – until the white cold stared to melt around his skin. Brigandine and the padded shirt went next. His moves were more erratic by the minute and by the time he's got to removing the underclothes his hands shook so much they could barely hold on to the fabric without rendering it to shreds.

Standing as he was, stark naked in the snow, he could only feel the heat rising in his body, radiating off his skin, turning the air he breathed out white and heavy. A storm was coming, he could hear it, he could _feel_ it. Good, it would make him stay in place; it would keep him from wandering when his mind is lost and his instincts demand blood.

Blood would come to him – that he also knew. Already Thorin could hear growling of the hounds and the way Men tried to noiselessly steal through the snow to ambush him. They had to be aware how dangerous a cornered Dwarf could become; they thought they were careful enough.

_Fools_, a voice in his mind hissed venomously. _Fools and easy prey, nothing else_.

He tried to stall the process, to stay awake for as long as possible (even if it was counter-productive the fear that filled him very time the change forced its way through his body was impossible to swallow), but the heat and pain were quickly becoming unbearable. He fell in the snow and curled on the side, biting in his fist to stifle pained cries that tried to escape his throat when bones started shifting and elongating and stretching his skin. How grateful he was to Mahal that Fili and Kili didn't have to go through this process, that their changes were painless. It was his only comfort as it happened, time after time, _after time,_ that he was the only one to suffer so.

His vision was the last to change – reds and blacks filled his world, lack of sun became inconsequential: he could see perfectly well in the dark. It was a clear sign that any moment now his awareness will be pushed aside, that Thorin Oakenshield will fall into the darkness of nightmares with no surety of ever coming back from it.

He only hoped it will happen before the first hunter finds him. He hated the taste of blood.

.

.

* * *

.

.

"…er Baggins? Wake up! Oy, tiny thief!"

This time there was no hand on his mouth so the squeal of terror was very well pronounced, if entirely undignified.

Fili jumped back in surprise just as Bilbo scrambled in the opposite direction – or tried to, because his limbs got tangled in his overlong cloak and he ended up falling face first into the wet, cold white. Admirably, it didn't manage to stop his attempts at creating distance between him and the Dwarf (who was, thankfully, fully clothed by now).

"No, Bilbo, stop! Come now, don't do it… stop, listen!"

"Who are you?!" The Hobbit gasped, staring wide-eyed at the _creature_ that attempted to reach out for him. His body was shaking from cold and fear, his vision was swimming a little. "_What_ are you?"

Naked terror in his eyes made Fili pause. The blond lowered his eyes and slumped on his knees with a weary sigh. "Don't be afraid of me," he pleaded softly. "Please, Mister Baggins, whatever you do, just don't be afraid."

"Don't be…" Bilbo choked out in disbelief. He tried to stand up, but is knees felt like jelly and the shock seemed to steal most of his breath. "Don't be…? You… you were it… him? You were the…" He could not say it. It was too ridiculous to even _think_ about it and he could not say it out loud!

Fili apparently had no such inhibitions, because he nodded tiredly and said:

"Yes. Pharaz is me when the sun sets."

And Bilbo could only shake his head.

"You can't… say it just like that! It's impossible!"

"Nonetheless it's true," the Dwarf smiled wryly. "Come now, is it more impossible that having a ring that makes you invisible?"

"_Yes!"_

Of course it was! He's touched the hart! He's been nuzzled by it and it _stole his apples_! It was real, the animal was as real and as solid as Bilbo was! And Fili… was too.

You couldn't just interchange them like that! For one, where did the additional bulk came from and where did it go to?!

"You just can't…" Bilbo whimpered hopelessly, hugging himself around the middle. "How is it even possible? You just can't…"

Whatever expression showed on his face had to be severe, because Fili frowned and shuffled closer, wordlessly pulling him into a tight embrace. Bilbo was too shocked to protest and it was warmer this way, anyway. He tried to remember that he liked the young Dwarf before. He _really_ did.

"There," murmured the blond, pulling away a bit, but staying close enough that the Hobbit could lean on his shoulder. "Are you done with the hysterics, tiny thief?"

"Yes." Bilbo hoped he's not lying. It was a long while since anyone hugged him like that in a moment of fear. Not since his mother's death. "I'm… done. Thank you."

"Then we better move somewhere we can settle in for the night before the storm hits. We can't afford fire, but there are some tricks to keep us warm enough."

He was pulled upright and roughly patted down to get his cloak free of snow. Fili shouldered the bag that Bilbo was given by his brother (and it made sense now, as the clothes had to come from somewhere) and pulled the Hobbit by the hand, like an an unruly child.

The Dwarf probably feared that he could run.

Bilbo feared that his fear isn't completely unfounded.

.

.

.

* * *

I just remembered that I forgot to explain what the names of the beasts mean:)

Both names are driven from Andunaic and mean:

Dulgi - dark/black

Pharaz - gold

Because I'm that simpleXD


	8. Chapter 8

Even though for most of the time Dwarves were a boorish and rude lot, Bilbo could not find a better companion than one of them; especially, in the middle of the forest during a snowstorm with naught but the clothes on his back.

It didn't take a long time for Fili to find them a shelter – even in the darkness. Or maybe, because dwarven eyes were much better at seeing in the dark than anyone else's, save maybe Wood Elves'. They didn't have to go far before they stumbled upon a hollow in the ground and a giant pine tree that had to grow on its edge and at some point in the past had slipped down and fell across the shallow ravine. Brambles and weeds sheltered the hollow in a tangled mess of thorns and dead leaves, strong enough to carry the weight of the snow; thanks to it the bottom of the hollow was dry. As far as shelters went, it wasn't that bad.

"Here, take this," said Fili, handing him a piece of fabric that could've been a carpet in the past. "Spread it on the ground and settle in, I'll just finish here."

Bilbo did as told, while the blond fought with the brambles trying to pull them over the entrance of their little shelter. The storm was coming strong and already the wind was bitingly sharp and the first snowflakes, big and heavy, hung in the air.

Soon enough they were both squeezed in the small burrow and Bilbo couldn't help but smile at the thought of finally having a hole in the ground for himself. Well, himself and a Dwarf that was all sharp angles and poky elbows as they tried to settle down under one blanket. At least Fili was a prepared Dwarf and even through the storm wailed over their little shelter, inside was quite warm thanks to the ingenious little thing the blond pulled out of his bag.

A Dwarven Lantern it was called and Bilbo always – _always_ – wanted to have one of those. It was a simple device shaped like a can with a removable lid. Little holes spaced in even intervals along its sides to let just the right amount of air in. No one knew what was burned inside, but it didn't give off any smell or smoke, the flame burned until it was extinguished by the Dwarf never leaving any ash.

It gave out warmth, though, enough of it to make a hole in the frozen ground almost pleasant to be in.

Bilbo curled up under the blanket and his long coat, exhausted and scared. He didn't forget that the part of said exhaustion was caused by the one sitting next to him – at least the mental kind. Fili was a solid-if silent-presence, and even though the Hobbit could not see his face, he was sure that the Dwarf was far from calm.

Well, Bilbo was far from calm himself; his head still reeled from the recent chase and even more recent revelation that the blond youth he was slowly becoming friends with was, apparently, a big hart that liked to nick his food and bite his fingers. Oh Heavens, what has he gotten himself into?

Did he really want to know?

"Well…" Bilbo spoke over the sound of the wind. "I hope they are alright."

And that was another worry altogether – their two companions that split from the group to lead the chase away. Were they alive? Or did they manage to escape only to be caught in the storm with no shelter to take refuge in?

The only answer Bilbo got was a non-committal grunt that didn't manage to calm him at all.

"Aren't you worried?" He tried again.

"Of course I am!" Fili snapped back, affronted. Then he seemed to remember himself and apologised quietly. "I am, Mister Baggins, or course I am. But, regardless of how he acts most of the time, Kili is smart enough not to get caught and Uncle… Uncle is probably the safest of us all."

"Then why did he leave us?" asked Bilbo. If it was true, then why did the Dwarf leave his nephews when the situation turned dire? Obviously, he was a seasoned warrior and yet he ran away?

Fili had to guess his thoughts, because he shifted uneasily next to the Hobbit and lowered his voice as he explained, "It's not that he's in less danger than we are. It's just that at the moment he may be the most dangerous thing in these woods."

Oh.

"Oh," Bilbo swallowed heavily. Of course. "That means… he is also… like you?"

"Yes. But not like me or Kili."

So Kili too… why was he even surprised…

The wolf! Of course it was the wolf! Stupid, stupid, Bilbo Baggins, you are positively brainless lately! It made sense for them to avoid the Tract and stop every evening. It made sense that the 'animals' were so intelligent and seemed to understand what was being said to them. It all started to make sense.

And yet, it was still _impossible_ and Bilbo's mind tried to dismiss it as some sort of delusion.

"How are you…" he stopped, took a deep breath and started anew. "How is it possible for you to change… shapes? Are you Wizards?" He was a curious Hobbit and also one tired of secrets.

The Dwarf snorted and shook his head, "No, we're not so lucky," he said. For a moment there was silence and Bilbo wondered if he will ever get answers that he wanted to hear, but finally the blond spoke. "It's a curse. We're cursed, Mister Baggins."

Well… that was… that was not what he expected to hear. That was certainly nothing he _wanted_ to hear and only the cold outside of their shared blanket stopped him from moving away from the youth. It didn't stop his voice from shaking, though.

"Cursed?" he whimpered. "By who? Why?"

Something so unbelievable, so… strange.

"It's a long story." Fili admitted tiredly.

"We have nothing, but time."

"It's also a story my Uncle knows best."

And has to approve of sharing it – Bilbo added to himself.

He was frustrated, but not entirely surprised at that. This little family was extremely close knit and the boys, whatever else could be said about them, took their uncle's opinions very seriously.

"We change forms with the sun," Fili revealed. "Me and Kili. He has Days and I have Nights. Pharaz and Dulgi take our places as we swap." The topic was obviously a hard one for the young Dwarf; his voice was quiet and a bit shaky, his shoulder that was touching Bilbo's, was tense.

"So where is this journey taking us?" Bilbo decided to slightly change direction. "Why do you need me?"

Because, in the end, that was what was essential for him to know, wasn't it? The whole story was fascinating and obviously went deeper than the simple explanation he was given, but where did he come in it? What was his place in this whole mess?

"There is an object of great power that can break our curse," Fili revealed. "It's the only thing in the world that can do it… we've tried everything and nothing, nothing works! If we can manage to find this thing… we will reclaim our lives. We will be able to go back to the way we were twenty years ago."

"What?! Twenty years…?"

He felt more than saw the youth nodding at his hushed exclamation. "Twenty years, Mister Baggins, is a terribly long time. We just want to go home. I want… I want to see my brother's face…"

Bilbo's gasp went unnoticed under the wailing of the storm as the understanding hit him square in the heart. Nights and days. Oh Fili…

"You've never…?" he asked gently.

"Never," was a broken answer. "We've tried and tried, but… I haven't seen my brother in twenty years."

Bilbo always thought himself to be quite skilful with words, but this time nothing seemed appropriate. What could he say in the face of such misery? Nothing.

But he wasn't a heartless creature, far from it in fact, so he did what he could – he shifted and wiggled until he was in a position to put his arms around Fili's shoulders and squeezed as hard as he could. It was awkward because he had to bend his head under the low 'ceiling' and the Dwarf was so much bigger than him; he felt a bit like a child trying to console a grown up, but it was okay. Fili tensed shortly, confused as to what is going on, but after a while he relaxed and even leaned a bit on the Hobbit, embracing him back.

A little bit of comfort could go a long way; Bilbo had learned this early on in his unfortunate life. His toes were cold and he was getting hungry, their situation was at best precarious, but… how could it measure up to the things he's just heard?

"At least you have your uncle," he whispered into the golden mane he was resting his cheek on. "He is quite churlish, but he seems to get the better of this whole mess and greatly cares for both of you."

"Oh, tiny thief," it could have been a whimper, Bilbo didn't know as it was muffled against his shirt. "You don't understand."

"Understand what?"

"Uncle's curse is different from ours."

Different?

"How so?"

"It's much worse."

.

.

* * *

.

.

The night was harsh. Cold wind whistled between the trees, blowing handfuls of freezing white into its face and eyes. Beast retreated into the shallow hideout it woke up in. It was too cold to go out and search for prey. It was aggravating beyond measure. The moon was hidden behind the clouds and Beast's skin crawled unpleasantly, igniting its anger even more.

Good thing that it wasn't hungry any more – the stupid prey came to it on their own accord, crawled into its lair armed with steel. How humorous was that?

Steel!

They died quickly, but painfully and their flesh and blood sated the Beast for a while.

It didn't have to hunt yet.

_Not yet, but soon. _

.

.

* * *

.

.

The storm didn't last whole night. About an hour before the sunrise Bilbo was gently nudged awake by a very sombre Dwarf that said, "The wind has quieted down, but I don't think it will last long. We have a chance now, come on, tiny thief!"

The Hobbit grunted and grumbled, but obediently crawled out of the hole while his bones cracked and the skin on his legs crawled with imaginary ants. The forest was still dark, but as it was winter and the clouds subsided a bit, moonlight reflected off the snow diluting the darkness enough for one to see they were going.

Of course, one had to be a Dwarf to make sense of what they were seeing and Bilbo was a lucky Hobbit indeed, to be in the company of one.

"We have to go North-East," Fili was explaining quietly as he rolled up the blankets and buckled them on top of his bag. "There's a hideout a couple of miles from here that we were trying to reach before the hunters found us. It's nothing much, just a cave, but it has roof and is deep enough to spend few nights in. That is where we will find Kili, or Dulgi, and where we will wait for Uncle to catch up."

Bilbo nodded to every word and didn't ask what they will do if they won't find Kili in the cave. Or, even worse, if Thorin won't be able to 'catch up'. He stayed silent and tried to focus on his freezing body and the snow-covered ground under his feet. All he could see was the brown fur on Fili's cloak as the Dwarf led him by a hand like some small child unable to walk on its own.

As they trudged on, a stray thought entered his mind: what if he was to escape now?

This whole journey was quickly becoming too complicated for one little Hobbit to deal with; he was not warned about curses and shape-shifters and hunters of any kind when he signed that Contract. And he was quite sure that the danger will only grow from now on, because wasn't that how every adventure went? Everything escalated up to the point when a bloody final act wiped out three quarters of the cast leaving only the hero standing – covered in blood and guts, but alive.

And however Bilbo valued his own life and various skills, he knew that he is not a hero. No, ones such as him usually died somewhere in the second act – cold and alone, mentioned shortly as a footnote in the Epilogue.

What would happen if he defected now when the situation wasn't yet as dire?

_You will probably get lost and freeze to death_ – common sense answered. It sounded a lot like his mother. _You will also lose your only chance of getting the ring back and isn't it the only reason you're here now? _

Sadly, Mother was always right. The ring was not something he could discard – not at the price of his life even.

He flinched lightly when the broad hand gripping his thin one clenched shortly to get his attention.

"Mister Baggins," Fili whispered without looking over his shoulder. "I will have to change soon."

Indeed, Bilbo was startled to see that while he was busy pondering escape the sky on the Eastern horizon started to brighten up. He could actually see the Dwarf's face when they finally stopped and Fili handed him the bag.

"You don't have to watch," the blond offered gently. "Indeed, I would rather you didn't, but stay here and keep an eye on the bag for me, please."

Bilbo swallowed and nodded, his thin fingers clenched and unclenched on the rough leather. Even though he knew what was about to happen, it didn't mean that he was prepared to see it happening… again. Kind of. It was still too strange and tragic for him, after all that he's heard just a few hours ago, he still had problems with coming to terms with the idea of a curse that changed his companions into animals.

Fili had to see some reflection of it on his face, because he paused in the middle of unbuckling his coat and stood before the Hobbit. Warm hand rested on the back of Bilbo's neck and he was pulled forward until his forehead met with that of the Dwarf's. He closed his eyes and shivered, caught in an intimate gesture that nonetheless _was_ somewhat calming.

"Don't be afraid," Fili whispered to him gently. "None of us will hurt you, tiny thief."

"I… I am not afraid, not really," Bilbo whispered back. "But it's… strange."

"I know."

And who would know it better than them?

After he was released, a wide hand ruffled his hair and he squeaked indignantly, pushing it away.

"I am not a child! Stop it!"

The Dwarf just smiled and finished undoing the clasps on the coat; he handed it to the Hobbit with obvious care and Bilbo put it over his shoulder, trying to keep it above the snow.

"Pharaz will come to you and lead you the rest of the way," Fili kept talking as he shed his clothes. "He's a smart beast with a good nose; it will be no problem for him to find Kili even after a blizzard like that. When you meet my brother… hit him over the head for me, please."

At that Bilbo chuckled.

"I will try," he promised. "But I fear it may shake the last bits of sense out of him."

"Is he that much of a boor, then?" One pale eyebrow went up.

"Oh, you should see his scowl…" Bilbo bit his tongue so hard he saw stars just before he saw Fili's shoulders slump.

Way to stick a foot into your mouth, Bilbo Baggins! It's a wonder why you have so very few friends!

"I am sorry," he said quietly and turned away from the Dwarf.

He stood in the snow, silent and miserable, listening to the sounds of the blond undressing, looking at the sky that slowly changed from dark blue into a pale rosy hue. There were dark clouds coming quickly from the North. The blizzard was not over yet, it would seem. Bilbo hoped that Fi… that Pharaz will be quick enough to escape it, that they will find that promised shelter before the second wave hits.

A few silent minutes has passed until a shirt has been placed on his left arm – and a hand on the right one. Hand that tightened for a second before letting go.

"I would like to hear about him," was whispered behind his back. "When I come back in the evening, I would like to hear about my brother from you, Mister Baggins. Is that alright?"

Bilbo nodded, not trusting his stupid, ungraceful mouth. As far as favours went this was probably the easiest one ever asked of him. He could do it without problem – he would do anything to chase away sadness from the youth's voice.

So he nodded and listened to the snow crunching under bare feet as Fili walked away from him.

He hoped that the change will happen quickly and that they will find this cave with Kili in it, and that the young Dwarf will be unharmed. For Fili's sake more than his own, he hoped.

.

.

* * *

.

.

The day was even worse than the night has been. The Beast hid from the sun that tried to reach it in its little hideout. Some stray beams darted through the tangled canopy and fell on its skin causing it to itch and crawl unpleasantly.

There was nothing left to eat, all the tasty meat was consumed and the smell of the blood covered snow around the Beast served only to entice it. It was not hungry, but it was greedy and gluttonous and it would never be sated with human flesh.

No, what it wanted, was a Dwarf. With sturdy bones and hard meat that tore under its teeth and filled its mouth with rich, hot blood.

There was a Dwarf in this forest, Best knew, and it would find him.

After the sun set behind the clouds, it would find the meal it longed for.

.

.

* * *

.

.

As it turned out they did find the cave. And a Dwarf.

There was a slight problem though.

Shortly after the sunrise the day has turned to worse; the sky seemingly didn't mind adding to the layer of snow already covering the earth and the wind picked up considerably. Bilbo, with his short legs and naked feet, burdened with a heavy bag, was struggling to walk behind the hart until the animal (_he forced himself to think of it as an animal, because Fili was so much more… just so much more in his mind_) got annoyed with having to wait on him every couple of steps.

The thief understood its intent with little trouble when the beast looked pointedly at him and then shifted its head to the side, lowering it so the antlers were in easy reach of the shorter being. Understanding, though, didn't make him any more eager to follow the instructions. He was a Hobbit, a ground-dweller, his feet were made for walking and not for…

"Ouch!" he whimpered when a hard bone rapped him in the forehead. "You are a menace, you know that? You and that wolf brother of yours! How would I ever feel sorry for you, I don't know!"

The hart looked unimpressed at his flailing and after a few more moments of grumbling insults Bilbo had no choice but to comply. He wrapped his frozen fingers on the base of the antlers and with one powerful pull of the beast's head; he was sitting on its back.

Pharaz was wider than a pony and moved in an entirely different way, so there was no chance for Bilbo to fall asleep on his back – no, the Hobbit had to stay low, with his hands tangled into the long golden fur and pay attention to the way hard muscles shifted under him. It wasn't an unpleasant way to ride; when they weren't dashing madly through the forest. Pharaz moved with grace and balance even on the uneven terrain, he didn't smell like a wet pony and was surprisingly warm. He was just so… _tall_. In the end Bilbo decided that holding on and not looking down was the best strategy.

They travelled through most of the morning while the forest around them was growing steadily thicker and darker; the weather breaking over their heads was certainly _not_ helping matters. Bilbo was hungry and cold, but as it wasn't a novelty for him, he kept it to himself. There would be food when he's found Kili – who was mouthy and rude, but never disappointed when it came to hunting down a dinner.

Around noon Pharaz slowed his steps down and finally stopped. He looked unsure and Bilbo carefully slid to the ground and stalked forward, trying to keep as quiet as possible. When the wind blew his way he briefly smelled smoke and his heart jumped in joy that they've found their lost companions… right until he looked at the hart and noticed its nervousness. Fili said that Pharaz has a good nose, he would certainly smell Kili if the other Dwarf has been around – and he would go to him without pause. So why was he stopping now?

Bilbo crouched and wiggled a bit to fit under a wall of prickly hawthorns and looked ahead.

Truth to Fili's words there was a cave – a wide gap in a stone wall partially hidden behind threes and snow-covered bushes.

The thief observed the entrance to the cave and he could swear that he saw a shadow appearing on the opposite wall – a shadow too tall to be a Dwarf. Oh no, was their hideout discovered by someone else? Was it the reason Pharaz stalled? But who and how many of them?

And what to do now?

Bilbo crawled back and sat in the snow, looking up at the hart, half-expecting the animal to tell him what to do. Disappointingly, Pharaz didn't look ready to talk; he shifted his graceful legs and sniffed the air, looking altogether too jumpy to be of help. The Hobbit sighed and considered his options.

The smartest one would be to stay in hiding and wait for Kili to show up. Or Thorin. He was a small being, no match for even one human and if the residents of the cave turned violent there was no way for him to win.

That being said – with the way the weather was looking, staying outside could as well spell his death. This time there was no convenient shelter to hide in and the temperature was dropping fast; already Bilbo's toes felt like little ice cubes attached to his feet.

His contemplation was interrupted when a muffled sound coming from the cave caused the hart to flinch. Bilbo looked up to the animal and saw it sniffing the air over his head, long neck stretched and sides heaving. Without one look at the halfling curled at his feet, Pharaz circled the hawthorns and stepped out of their cover. Silent as a shadow, he stalked along the stone wall and Bilbo could do nothing else than to follow. They didn't enter the cave, thank Heavens, the hart led them to the side, into a shallow groove sheltered by junipers, under a stone overhang where they were greeted by three startled horses and two remarkably unimpressed ponies. Bilbo released the breath he hasn't been aware of holding when he recognised Myrtle and Minty. And then it caught again when the presence of the big horses registered properly in his mind. They were dark and sturdy animals; their reins were obviously a part of the same set – simple and unadorned, made of strong leather. They were not traveller's horses, Bilbo concluded, they were too well fed and groomed; rather they belonged to someone who relied on their speed.

Like hunters.

Kili was there – his bag was resting under the wall next to Minty and Bilbo could spot his bow and sword poking out from under it.

Oh no, it meant that whoever hunted them has caught the young Dwarf!

What was he to do now? He was just a Hobbit, he had no chance with three grown men!

He should wait for Fili, Bilbo decided, the sunset wasn't that far off. He could hide with the horses, where he would be warm and then explain everything to the blond Dwarf when he comes back.

But then, when Fili comes back, Kili… goes away.

And how would three skilled hunters react to a Dwarf changing into a wolf? They would try to kill it, of course. Dulgi would attack them and they would fight back and… and he was trapped in a cave, alone against three of them.

The situation was dire, Bilbo realised with growing horror. Oh, if only Thorin was with them!

.

.

* * *

.

.

Thorin was suffocating.

An enormous weight was pressing at him from all sides – as if he was locked in a barrel, or a very small chest or, indeed, a coffin. His skin crawled and he could barely breathe. And it was so hot. Every breath he took scorched his throat and lungs, every breath was a struggle that left him trembling and sweaty.

It was all a dream, he tried to tell himself, just an illusion his feverish mind produced when his body was taken over by another being. He was not there, not really.

Soon it would end and he will be free, he just had to hold on a little bit longer; he had to be strong now and it will be over soon.

_Soon_.

.

.

* * *

.

.

Pharaz was no help at all. The hart was milling around the horses, restless and agitated, and every so often stopped by the Hobbit, looking at him expectantly. Bilbo was not amused and thought that fate is rather unfair in suddenly making him the brains of this little company. He was a thief! He wasn't a warrior and certainly not a tactician; he was just… just Bilbo. Nothing special at all.

And the situation required someone who knew what they were doing, someone who could come up with a plan and rescue the youngest member of the group without getting captured or killed. Fili should be that person, or Thorin, not him!

Hard as he wrecked his mind for a possible solution to their problem, Bilbo couldn't find one and soon enough he felt cold tendrils of panic weaving their way around his stomach. He was no hero, he could not do it. And who knows? Maybe those hunters weren't that bad? Maybe they were actually men of law and order? Maybe they won't hurt the Dwarf…

But every time thoughts like that appeared, it was enough for Bilbo to look at the hart and his fragile optimism crumbled anew. Pharaz was afraid – and if there was something that could make such a big, powerful beast afraid, it was nothing good. Logically, the thief should be happy, he should be running towards anyone who could free him from this whole confounded and unexpected journey. Enemy of my enemy, and so on.

But he was old enough to know that the world wasn't that simple. That sometimes getting out of the frying pan meant falling into the fire and, most often than not, it ended badly. Men never respected his kind: sometimes they were kind out of pity, sometimes they thought that Hobbits are those naïve, clumsy children wandering the world, always underfoot, but altogether harmless. Most of the time Men were dismissive, if not ignorant, of their plight; but very often they've been cruel.

Not as a rule, no, Men were as complex and varied than any other race, but being as they were: short-lived and still young, they tended to see the world around them with only their eyes, not with their minds. They were awed by the Elves and their culture, constantly cowed by the elegance and intelligence of the fairy folk. They tried to mock the Dwarves for their short stature, but could not hope to match their raw strength or skill with arms of any kind. Hobbits, on the other end, were a free game. Small, weak, not at all violent and with no one to stand up for them – a perfect pray, really.

And Bilbo, as much as he was still mightily angry with his dwarven companions (_well, one of them actually, the oldest one_), was reluctant to swap them for three unknown Men.

Staying with them guaranteed his survival for now, so there was really no choice in the matter – he had to come up with a plan.

"I wish your Uncle would hurry up and find us," he spoke quietly to the hart, when the beast stopped by him to nudge his side with its nose. Bilbo gently rubbed one pert ear and sighed, amused, when Myrtle shifted behind him, jealous of the action. "I would feel much better having his sword backing us up."

But Thorin was not there, and would not be for a day yet – leaving the matters in the hands of a Hobbit.

"I will give him some stern talking to when he finally deems to drag his Dwarfish behind back," he promised to himself, stepping out of his hiding place right into a blizzard. "His big ears may fall off at the end of it!"

There was no point in fretting and panicking, Bilbo decided, without knowing exactly what he was against. He was not a warrior, but he was a quite accomplished thief and sneaking around was his strongest skill. So he sneaked alongside the wall to the entrance of the cave. Maybe it will be possible for him to take a look inside and assess the situation properly? Maybe he could sneak in and free the Dwarf before any of the hunters realises what's going on?

It would be all so much easier if he's had his ring with him.

Well, it was one more good reason for him to get Kili out with his head attached.

Crouching at the lip of the cave Bilbo felt his stomach dropping in disappointment – the cave was deeper than he expected and it curved, so all he could see were shadows playing on the wall. The shadows moved lively, dashing his hopes of catching the Men asleep.

What to do now, would he dare to go in deeper?

Searching for a metaphorical way out, Bilbo looked up and, quite accidentally, found a possible solution to his problem. The cave's ceiling was very high, but most importantly, it was riddled with holes; through a few of them he could see the under-brush growing on the roof of the rocky formation.

Not wasting time, the thief retreated outside and started looking for a way to climb up – it wasn't the safest endeavour in this kind of weather, with snow covering everything and limiting visibility, but Hobbits were light and agile, and soon enough Bilbo was scaling the wal, swift like a squirrel. He was thoroughly wet at the end of it, but he waved the discomfort off and started to crawl under the bushes to search for any half-covered holes.

He's found them: the roof of the cave was cracked and full of small gaps that time has filled with moss and grass, but after a few minutes of desperate digging Bilbo uncovered one that was big enough for him to slip into. It was more of a burrow, probably dug up by a fox or a badger that were unpleasantly surprised when the bottom of it opened under their paws. Bilbo squeezed through and there it was – he could see the inside of the cave without being seen.

Great.

Great.

What now?

He could see three Men gathered around a bonfire – all of them big and burly, wide in the shoulders and with their hair cropped sort. Bilbo could not see their faces, but he thought that there's some sort of a familial resemblance to the way they moved and spoke. Two of them were busy eating some sort of meat they roasted on the stick over the fire while one took advantage of the warmth to dry his socks.

They were armed, though, and that drew Bilbo's attention before he refocused it to search for Kili.

He's found the Dwarf tucked into a corner of the cave, sitting down, with his hands tied behind his back and ankles bound in front of him. Kili looked to be asleep, slumped as he was against the wall, with his head lowered and for a moment Bilbo's stomach clenched with worry – he didn't see any blood, but it didn't mean that the youth wasn't hurt.

Well, at least he was alive, the Hobbit tried to find something positive in this whole mess.

"Damn this storm!" The Man without socks complained. His voice carried well to where Bilbo was perched. "It's a long way back, an' me boots 're soaked!"

"Shut yer trap, Bill," another one said sharply. "At least we have a place to rest."

"I dun like this cave, Tom," the third said wearily, "Dun look too solid. I dun like being 'ere so far North." He took a big bite out of his meal and chewed it thoughtfully for a while. "Them others pru'bubly caught that other Dwarf an' are on their way home."

"And probably freezing them asses off while we sit 'ere by the fire!" Tom snapped back. "We'll be dry an' rested by the time weather lets go, Bert."

"It doesn't look like it'll let go till mornin'," Bert mused. "Dun like to be 'ere at all. They say a ghost haunts these lands…"

"A load of rubbish!" Tom was, apparently, not willing to stay for a round of tales by the fire; he stood and cracked his spine loudly. " 's a children's tale an' rumours!"

It didn't discourage Bert, though, who turned to Bill and kept talking: "They say some magic was done in this place and now it's haunted. A ghost of a beast or a beast 'imself stalks around at night."

Bilbo shivered in his hiding place. An angry ghost was the last thing they needed.

He tracked Tom, the tallest of Men, as he stalked to the bound prisoner and his worry grew.

"Oy, Dwarf!" The man kicked the bound legs. "Woke up, finally? Better start talkin' 'efore I get really angry!"

"Talking about what?" Kili's voice was muffled and tired, but there was unmistakably mocking note to it. "I can talk about great many things, you know."

"Yer better start talkin' where's the rest?!"

"The rest of what?"

"Of ya!"

Bilbo could see the youth tilting his head; it looked as if he was taking stock of his own body before he spoke: "As far as I can tell, I am whole and undamaged."

The thief almost snorted. Almost.

Tom wasn't as appreciative of the smart ass remark and let it know by leaning down and hitting Kili in the face. "Aren't we smart, runt!" he grabbed a fistful of dark braids and sneered into the bruised face. "Where is the rest of yer group?"

"There's no group," Kili's voice was surprisingly clear and loud when he answered. "I am on my own."

"He lies!" shouted Bill from over the fire.

"No, I am not. Have you seen anyone with me?"

That stumped them for a bit, but quickly enough Bert came to the rescue of his two less than sharp companions.

"Ye have two ponies, how do ya esplain that?" he asked.

"I bought them," was a deadpan answer.

It seemed to stun all three of them into silence and Bilbo had a moment to shake his head in wonder. They were idiots, he thought with joy, they were idiots! How lucky!

Well, partially lucky; they were still bigger and stronger and armed, there was no chance he could take them on. The only option that didn't involve bloodshed was to somehow lure them out of the cave. Spooking their horses could potentially work – but Bilbo doubted that all three Men would go after them. And, apart from that, he couldn't force himself to send those animals into the middle of a blizzard like that, no way.

Oh, what to do? What to do?

He watched, mortified, when Tom, unable to find a verbal answer, smashed two more fists into the face of the prisoner. It had to hurt, and Bilbo's heart broke a bit with every crack that echoed around the cave. He could just imagine Fili's despair at the pain his brother was going through.

For now the Men left Kili alone – probably so he could recover his wits and Bilbo was grateful for that. He was also dead sure that whatever distrust and dislike existed between him and the youth, he will do whatever he can to get him out of that cave. It was a decent thing to do, after all.

But how? Currently he was wet and freezing and no closer to forming a plan. The time was running short because of the stupidly short winter's days. The sun was already very close to the horizon, the Hobbit could feel it even without seeing it from behind the heavy clouds. Soon Kili would turn into a wolf and, trussed up as he was, there was no chance he could defend himself.

Think, Bilbo, think! What would Great Uncle Isengrim do? What would Father do?

He was a good thief and quite skilled con artist, but those two skills were hardly going to help him now.

Meanwhile, underneath him, Kili came to his senses with a muffled groan, shaking his head weakly to dispel any fog that clouded his vision. That movement drew the attention of the trio and at once the youngest one, Bill, raised his hand and pointed at something, "What is that?"

And Bilbo froze. He could see, even from distance, a gentle shine of the fire reflected off a chain that has slipped out from under the Dwarf's shirt. His ring was attached to that chain!

"What do ya 'have 'ere?" Bill repeated, getting closer to the prisoner.

"A neck," Kili answered and Bert snorted at that from his meal.

"Shut up, runt!" Bill was obviously trying to imitate his older companion, but his voice was too shaky. "What is that chain?"

"It's copper."

And Bilbo had to give it to the lad, he was quite impressive when he put his mind to it. Stupid, but impressive. He could probably make it big in the world of con artists and petty criminals.

Sadly, Kili couldn't lay thick on being small and miserable and undeserving of attention – he was a worthy target because of that.

"Shut up, Dwarf-scum! Copper or not, it's mine now!"

There was a short scuffle and Bilbo cursed the Man for blocking his view, as his heart marched up to his throat in fear of losing his heirloom… until the moment Bill fell away with a shout and a mouthful of curses.

"Lil' blighter bit me!" he cried over his bleeding hand.

Oh no, that was not good at all! Now the other two were rising up, gleeful cruelty marking their faces and Bilbo was scared, because he knew what those expressions meant for Kili.

A lot of pain.

He was even more distressed when the Dwarf threw away his unimpressed attitude and leaned forward, bound and hurt, yet all but growling, daring the Men to try their worst.

Growling.

Oh.

"Lemme teach the runt not to mess with Higgins'es," Tom cracked his knuckles threateningly.

And Bilbo, who was only a Hobbit – a wet and cold and not very lucky at that, did the worst thing he could possibly do.

He sneezed.

Instantly scrambling to escape, he was stopped by the strange reaction of the trio in the cave. They stopped dead in their tracks, heads swinging from side to side.

"What was it?!" Bill asked wearily.

"Pru'bubly the storm," answered Tom. "Thunder 'nd bollocks."

"There ain't thunder in winter," Bert told him, moving back to the fire. "Tom, go and check it."

"Eh? And why not ya, uh, Bert?"

"I'll stay with tha' runt."

"Send Billy, then!"

"I ain't going out! 's… cold! "

"Well, I ain't going either! Go yerself if ya pissing yer pants, Bert!"

What… why? Why were they just standing there and arguing instead of going after him? They've heard him! Why would they…

Realisation hit suddenly and without warning.

The echo. Of course, the echo!

Apparently his little hiding space was placed in a part of the cave that resonated – and the echo made his sneeze sound like a… thunder? That's what they were thinking? It had to sound fairly threatening to frighten the trio into arguing amongst themselves. They were afraid; Bilbo could see it in their movements and hear it in their voices. Wasn't the big one, Bert, talking about ghosts just a while ago?

Ghosts!

It had to be said that Bilbo Baggins wasn't a stupid Hobbit. True, he was a wanderer and a thief, but he wasn't uneducated – his Mother took great pains to ensure that her son is literate and knows a worth of a good book. And Bilbo liked books, whenever he could put his hands on them, he liked them very much – especially the storybooks. Fairy tales for young fauntlings; he always excelled in telling them to the children he occasionally met on the road. He had good memory and a tongue nimble enough make up facts that weren't exactly true.

He just never expected that one day a life different than his own would depend on his ability to tell a convincing tale.

Never, until this day.

_WHO DARES TO DISTURB MY SLEEP?!_

The Men – and the Dwarf curled on the ground – froze when an angry voice filled the cave, rolling over them like thunder.

Bilbo didn't know how his voice sounded, he didn't have time to wonder while his heart was beating madly in his chest and his hands trembled; he just took another deep breath in and bellowed in the lowest tone he could manage.

_WHO DARES TO TRESPASS ON MY LAND!_

"Who… who is it?" Tom was the first to come out of shock. His companions were reaching for their weapons and close to hiding behind his back. "Show yerself!"

YOU DARE TO ASK WHO I AM? LOWLY WORM, I AM THE OWNER OF THESE LANDS AND THIS CAVE BELONGS TO ME! WHO ARE YOU TO ENTER IT WITHOUT BEGGING PREMISSION FIRST?!

"Tom… Tom, it's… it's that…" Bert was pulling at his companion's arm, but was pushed away.

"Tom Higgins, that's who I am!" the Man shouted. "And what are ye!?"

**_INSOLENT FOOL! _**

The cave shook with the force of the scream.

_I WAS ONCE KNOWN AS A GREAT WIZARD RADAGAST! AND THIS IS MY RESTING PLACE YOU'RE DESACRATING, SCUM!_

"Oh my god," squealed Bill, trying and failing to lift both naked feet of the ground at the same time. "'s cursed, this place! 's cursed, Tom! Let's go!"

"Shut up, ye fool! Go get the horses! Bert, get the runt!"

Oh no, that wouldn't do at all.

_A DWARF?!_

The Men froze again.

_YOU DARED TO BRIGN THIS FILTH HERE?!_

"Hey…" came an agitated protest from said Dwarf. "Who do you call…"

_SILENCE! SILENCE YOU INSOLENT BEING, YOU WASTE OF AIR! SILENCE!_

"Bill, horses!"

As if on cue sounds of alarmed whining entered the cave and the hunters panicked.

"Bill get 'em!"

"But Tom…"

"Get the horses or I'll flay ya where ya stand! Bert get 'im!"

With a squeak of fear Bill chased out of the cave, forgetting about his shoes and socks altogether.

One left, two stayed and one of them was about to pick up Kili and Bilbo couldn't let that happen! He racked his brain for more material and when he's found it, he shouted:

**_THE DWARF STAYS!_**

"Wha…?" Tom looked up and the Hobbit had a moment to fear that he's been discovered, but his hole was well masked in the dark. "Why you need 'im?" there was suspicion in the Man's voice and it was not good.

_AS A SACRAFICE!_

"What?!" Kili's shout almost matched the 'ghost's'. "No way!"

_YOU WILL LEAVE HIM OR I WILL CHANGE YOU ALL INTO… DOGS! FILTHY MONGRELS TO DO MY BIDDING! _

Now the Dwarf was very angry. "You bastard!"

"Tom, let's…"

"Shut 'im up!"

"You're a filthy dog yourself!"

Bilbo could feel it, the sunset, in the hair rising at the back of his neck. Or maybe it was the fear? His gamble was thin and the stakes were too high for his liking. He had to get this right. He just had to! Kili was mad and thrashing on the ground, making it impossible for Bert to pick him up and Tom was looking more suspicious by the second. The tall Man wasn't that much of an idiot apparently. Not easy to scare, either.

He had to get this right!

_YOU WILL SEE MY POWER FOOLS!_

"Fuck you, whoever you are!" Kili didn't disappoint.

_INSOLENT WRETCH YOU WILL BE THE FIRST! AND EVEN THE CHAIN OF A THIEF AROUND YOUR NECK WILL NOT SAVE YOU!_

He could not give himself away, but he hoped that Kili will understand the hint. Timing was everything and they were running out of time fast. He hoped…

Bilbo's hopes has been answered when Kili released a loud keening noise and started to thrash in an entirely different way.

"What happenin'!?"

"Don't leave 'im, Bert!"

"He's spasmin'… Tom, let's go!"

It had to be the time, Bilbo prayed. It had to be now. The Men were terrified and needed just one last push to send them running. It had to be now!

Now!

**_GRRRROOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAA!_**

The cave shook as two shouts merged into one echoing roar. Bilbo kept his eyes trained on the young Dwarf and, even so, when the Change came over him, he didn't see it happen. He blinked – and in that short moment Kili disappeared. He could hear a sound of fabric ripping and shouts of horrified surprise and a low growl… and then he opened his eyes and saw a black beast lying in the nest of torn clothes and ropes.

The hunters bolted.

And Dulgi set after them.

Bilbo scrambled from the hole as fast as he could, not minding the sharp rocks that cut into his palms and the cold wind that almost bowled him over as soon as he resurfaced. He peered over the edge of the wall to see two Men running in the direction where they've left the horses, but they didn't make it that far...

It took one jump and a wall of hard muscle fell on the shoulders of the shorter hunter, Bert, pulling him to the ground. The man thrashed under the weight of the black body, fingers scrambling for a weapon, but his neck was already being crushed between strong jaws of the beast and the blood coloured the snow around him.

Tom turned back with a yell, his sword bared, but after two steps he stopped and fell silently to the side with an arrow piercing his neck and another one sticking out of his back.

A moment later Fili appeared from behind the hawthorns – he was naked, save for a sword in his hand and a quiver hanging off his shoulder. Bilbo shivered at the sight, not only because of the freezing air, but also because he could see blood dripping from the sword that explained why Bill didn't come to help his brothers.

Gingerly, the thief slipped down the rock face, minding his step and resolutely trying to look everywhere, but not at the bodies of the hunters he brought to their death. His stomach was queasy and he felt quite sick. The last metre or so Bilbo decided to jump and he squealed like a scared fauntling when a solid wall of muscle pushed him against the wall as soon as his feet touched the ground.

"No, Kil… I mean, wolf… Dulgi, no!" He tried to protest when the beast decided to lick his face – while its muzzle was bloody and disgusting. "Stop! Fili, take him… Fili!"

Then he squawked again as he was pulled into a tight embrace against a very naked Dwarf.

"I don't know what you did, tiny thief," Fili whispered into his ear. "But I thank you with all my heart. We're in your debt, my brother and I."

"Well…" Bilbo blushed all the way down his neck. "You can start repaying it by telling your brother to stop licking me. And getting dressed, _for Heaven's sake_!".

.

.

.

.

* * *

ooo... Does it look like I'm heading in the direction of making Fili usurp Thorin's place as a love interest in this story? It does, right?  
But nope, not really:D I just like to write him so much - and Kili is always more fun to write about as a wolf than a surly teenager, but be patient with me, the scales will even out sooner or later;D  
At the moment I'm just trying to force Bilbo to be brave, dammit, and I will succeedXD


End file.
